Draco's Dilemma
by foggybythebay
Summary: Lucius leaves Draco a puzzle to solve, one that may help Draco survive sure death at the hands of the Dark Lord. But he's at a complete loss, that is, until he discovers that the bushy-haired Mudblood might have the key to unlocking the mystery.
1. Truths

**_Author's Note:_**_  
This story is being written as a gift for _**_Violent Pixi  
__who was my 100th reviewer of my first fanfic, __Just One Kiss__._**

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**Malfoy Mansion**  
**1996, Summer**

**_POV: Draco Malfoy_**

* * *

"Bloody Hell! I have to find this girl to get back in the Dark Lord's good graces, before I'm hauled off to Azkaban! This is impossible!"

I hear my mother's soft, muffled response behind the closed door. I don't expect her to be the one with whom my father converses. She can't take this, I think, worried for her. It's an unusual feeling to have right now. Usually I can separate my emotions, but not today. Today, I find the task too cumbersome. I consciously work on compartmentalizing.

It is, after all, the Malfoy way.

I'd been walking on eggshells all summer. I've been on tiptoe ever since the Battle at the Ministry, ever since my father's been placed on house arrest awaiting the Wizengamot court hearing. Father's haphazard spurts of fury, his moments of sorrow, and his randomly timed fierce pronouncements of fatherly love drives me to near madness. I've escaped all of my worldly problems by literally taking flight. I believe I've logged more hours on my broom soaring around over the Malfoy grounds these last two months than in all the years I'd practiced in the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts.

The uncharacteristic desperation in my father's words today blasts through the heavy wooden doors of his den. I hear him as I'm drumming up to courage to answer his earlier summons. I halt in front of the door, fretting. All night I'd stayed awake, trying to find a way I might be able to relieve myself of the task that was presented to me last night by the Dark Lord himself.

If not, I knew it just might be my death sentence.

I knock purposefully on my father's door.

"Enter."

The tone of this single word alone holds power. I steel myself as I grip the door handle. I perform the regular mental checks.

I hide my curiosity.

I smother my fear.

I smoothen my features.

I straighten my tie.

I run a hand over my slicked back hair.

I paste on a mild sneer and push open the door.

"Draco, sit," the command is silky, and smooth. The tone of his voice is oddly comforting. Now I know it is a good day for Father. So, I allow myself to release a little tension as I slide into the highly ornamented Fauteuil that faces his desk. My mother is in the matching one beside me, only a few feet away.

"I believe I will be found guilty and convicted this week, Draco," my father's voice is eerily calm. My mother shifts in her seat, but little else stirs the heavy silence in the room. "I know I will be residing in Azkeban within the fortnight. I called you here because in my absence, I want you to know that I consider you to be the man in charge. Your uncle will be of some assistance with the family business, but your mother and I have decided that Severus, your godfather, will be your guide this year, or for however long I remain incarcerated."

I nod calmly. Though the news shakes me, I remain straight-backed in my chair. I slowly interweave my fingers together and press my thumbs against one another. This is the only way I can allow a part of me to physically clench in fear. It is a move I learned at my father's knee.

As though carrying something extremely precious, my father holds up a familiar looking sphere. I determine that Father must have taken it from the Hall of Prophecies at the Department of Mysteries before everything went to hell in a hand-basket.

"In my hand I hold a prophecy that will protect us, Draco. I need to give you this information. I've been trying to untangle its mystery but my time is running out. This is another task for you to complete, of which the Dark Lord is yet unaware." I watch Father carefully hold the white crystal ball higher in the air, peering into it. "If you can discover the answer to this prophecy, Draco, this knowledge will save you from certain death should you be unable to complete the final deed the Dark Lord demands of you."

Father stares hard at me and I force myself not to look away. He seems to know that I am petrified of having to commit this final act. I can not begin to imagine how I will manage it. My father seems to sense this in me and he has thankfully given me something to help me before he is carted away to prison. I work hard not to outwardly express the relief I feel at this last showing of paternal care.

"Son, it will help protect your mother, and if the Dark Lord prevails, it will save our family name."

From the corner of my eye I see my mother. To the untrained eye, she appears calm, placid, even. But I know her. She is the only woman I have ever loved, or at least what I think of as love. I know that her eyes are bright from unshed tears. I know the slight furrow between her eyebrows only hint at her extreme distress. She shows strength by not breaking down in front of Father. But I know her, and I hear her weeping at night as I roam the mansion halls seeking a way to alleviate my interminable insomnia.

I sigh with false patience. I pretend not to care too much about the news my father has for me.

"Yes, Father. I'm ready for the information."

Lucius leans over his expansive desk, placing the glowing orb into my outstretched, open hands.

* * *

**Granger Household  
1996: Summer**

**_POV: Hermione Granger_**

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**

I arrive home from my summer job at the Muggle library to find my father's concerned blue eyes trained on me as I open the back door. My mother is in tears in the nearby living room.

_What on earth is wrong?_

"Mum? Dad?" All of my internal alarms are clanging, but I desperately seek calm in the eye of what surely must be a huge, rising storm.

"Hermione, we think you should sit down," my dad says, guiding me to the sofa where my mother bravely tries to compose herself and not crumple into sobs. "We just received some news from St. Andrews Hospital."

I sit down and brace myself for whatever the news is. I surmise that it can't be good considering my father's withdrawn expression and my mum's streaming tears.

"Oh, isn't that the hospital where I was born? That's weird," I attempt to keep my tone light, even though my palms are turning sweaty at my knees. "OK, what is it?"

My father gulps, staring at the floor.

"Well, the good news is, you have a sister," he sends me a wan smile. The shock of his words rockets through me before I realize there must be bad news, too. I shift, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "And...?" I prompt.

"Well, I guess it's to be done like ripping off a band-aid. Quickly," my dad mutters. I watch him grimace as he continues, "Hermione, sweetheart, it... it turns out that you aren't ...our biological daughter." He stammers, grabbing onto my hands which have suddenly stilled. "The hospital located some papers and records that show another child, our biological child, was born only minutes before you in an adjoining room. Apparently there was a mix-up in the nursery. I don't know what or how they came upon the file, but the hospital called us while you were out working and we've been going out of our minds since."

I stare at my mother's watery blue eyes, her dark blonde hair a straight curtain hiding most of her features. With strong, graceful dentist's fingers, she pushes her hair out of her face. Then she nearly launches herself at me, pulling me into a bone crushing hug.

"But you're still ours!" my mother wails. "Hermione, you're still our daughter!"

I nod slowly, not knowing what else to do or say.

"Does she look like me?" I dumbly whisper.

My father moves to the table by the window, where a thick file sits. I hadn't noticed it before. He lifts up a picture of a girl my age. She must still have a doctor at St. Andrews if dad has that picture, I think idly. I stare at a bright smiling face, sparkling blue eyes - like my father's.

I gasp.

Her blonde hair is straight and perfect. She looks exactly like my mum.

This was _their_ daughter.

I feel a fat, hot tear slide down my cheek. With only one look at this stranger's face, I finally realize the truth about why my looks are so different from my fair-haired parents, and why my brown eyes don't even own a hint of blue.

"You've spoken to her, then?" I croak softly.

They nod.

Suddenly, I can't see straight.

"Is my sister... magical like me?"

I watch them both shake their heads.

No.

This time my stomach clenches and I feel the extraordinary need to retch.

* * *

**_End note:_**_ Please be aware of changing POVs! I tried a straight plot line, but the reading seemed entirely too contrived. So, here's a warning that there'll be a lot of flashbacks and Penseive gazing to help provide the necessary history. Hopefully I've made time changes/settings fairly clear at the top and that the jumps with my time turner won't be too abrupt. This seems like it's going to be heavily plot driven, so if you want lots of dramione lemon and lime, you might want to try my **To Muddy a Malfoy**. Additionally, I'm trying to keep Draco and Hermione in character, but will develop them so that a relationship is possible. Here's to hoping you'll be patient with me! _


	2. Misplacement

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**_Hogwarts: _****_In the Great Hall  
1991: First Night, First Year_**

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_**

The Sorting Hat folded itself into frown. The little girl sitting under its brim was entirely too difficult to place. The Hat had half-a-mind to to put her into Hufflepuff to save himself the trouble of deciding. After all, it had already been a long night. But the mere thought of not doing due diligence pinched at its conscience - which was considerably large for a mere hat.

It saw the witch's qualities as clear as day:

Resourceful

Determined

Ambitious

A certain disregard, but not disdain, for the rules.

... and there was some cunning in this child as well.

But the hat chose not to speak of these things, choosing only to highlight her witty intelligence and her daring bravery.

"It's between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, then," the Sorting Hat mumbled to itself. The hat stirred as it felt her unusual spurt of courage at its words. Unusual for a young one still under the curious gaze of all the eyes in the Great Room, the Hat thought. This intrepidity finally convinced The Sorting Hat that Gryffindor would be the best house for the plucky little witch.

Already sorted into Slytherin, the boy with platinum blond hair scowled at the wholly unattractive girl as she skipped off the front dias to join the scar-faced boy who just rejected his handshake. Beside Potter, the red-headed Weasel clapped wildly. Together they joyfully slapped at the bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl, welcoming her to their bench.

Draco Malfoy sent a look of pure disdain over to the Gryffindor table.

_Mudblood_.

His vile epithet, yet unspoken, was aimed directly at the Muggle-borne witch.

* * *

**Flashback: 1926  
_To Plant a Seed_**

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_**

Long awaited freedom after three years in Azkeban hurried Morfin Gaunt along in his travels. He was eager to return to his childhood home, eager to claim ownership of his rickety, impoverished shack, and eager to finally gain the upper hand over his abusive father, Marvolo Gaunt.

While incarcerated, boredom and an unfamiliar spark of curiosity gave way to learning and Morfin, who'd been deprived of formal learning in his youth, at last discovered the importance of his family history, one he'd only previously had a small inkling of through his father's crazed rants.

To Morfin's great interest, he found he was a direct descendant of the pure-blood wizard, Salazar Slytherin, one of the greatest wizards of all time.

Now using the proper medication to keep his mental faculties clear, Morfin at last realized how low his father had sunk in the wizarding world, especially considering the elevated status his predecessors had. In prison, Mofin was given plenty of time to develop into a right sociopath, spinning fantasies of reclaiming the great Slytherin legacy.

The confinement from his deranged father allowed Morfin space to develop his own ideas, making him even more dangerous than before when he'd been no more than a filthy animal living in his father's ramshackle home. The new knowledge of his ancestry inspired Morfin, who finally learned to speak in wizarding English, ending his constant use of Parseltongue. He discovered his Slytherin determination which had him learning, without potions, how to magically make up for his mental incapacities and harness his violent tendencies - just enough to successfully co-exist with other dangerous wizards in the prison facility. He learned from his peers there, the very worst of villains.

Two months before his release, Morfin had finally caught a glimpse of his frightening visage in a looking glass, the first he'd ever seen in his life, and swore to himself that he would no longer be the dirty creature that he was when he'd entered Azkeban.

With a promise to hand over a couple of the Gaunt family heirlooms made to an easily influenced warden, Morfin purchased a visit to the infirmary and prison barber. This allowed him to get cleaned up, be given magical aid to fix his Strabismus, and re-grow his long-ago missing teeth. Upon his release, he wore suitable dark wizard's robes, sported a sleek new haircut, new eye-teeth and a decent pair of shoes. He looked downright dark and mysterious.

Morfin felt more of a man than he'd ever been under his father's neglectful care. He'd even been able to claim his wand, having convinced the prison warden and site counselors of his negligible sanity.

**_Wizard's Inn_**

Halfway home, Morfin's grumbling stomach hindered his journey. He stopped at Wizard's Inn to have a meal and get some necessary sleep. Upon entering, he was greeted with merry and bright sounds in the dining room. The cheer and welcome immediately enveloped him. It was unlike any place he'd ever been in his 30 years of life. Never had women looked at him the way they were doing so now. They were _interested_. Clearly the intriguing looks of the Slytherin family hadn't escaped him. Those dark physical characteristics finally emerged in Morfin now that he was without the crazed eyes, the layers of grime, and the empty spaces in his mouth where there should have been gleaming ivory.

"Well, hello, handsome, what'll you have?" asked one of the barmaids whose mode of dress left very little to the imagination. Morfin barely contained a leer as he gazed at the swell of her buxom chest. Never had he been this close to a delectable, willing female.

"I'll have whatever your special is tonight," he said with a low growl and a bow, bringing him closer to her ample breasts without appearing a true lecher. She giggled and nodded, "And a drink too, then?"

"No, just water," he said, wanting to retain his acuity of mind. He kept his dark gaze trained on her throughout his meal.

Earlier this barmaid, Miranda Sengue, noticed the dangerous looking man at the door and immediately claimed him as her customer. There was something powerful and sinister about him. She was never one to pick the good boys. She was always ready for a ride with the bad. This one looked quite ready for a good, hard ride.

Yes, she could pick them alright.

The stranger's nearly black eyes raked her body every time he seemed to think she wasn't paying attention. It made her wet just thinking about dragging his long lean body up the stairs to her room tonight. Too bad he wasn't into drinking liquor. Hopefully he'd prove even better without the artificial courage. He wore no ring to indicate he had a wife, which was usually a good thing.

Miranda was a fallen witch, a discredit to the Sengue family name, a hussy who had taken off with the worst sort of Muggle, one who'd used her and discarded her as soon as he was done. She was no longer welcome as family by her pure-blood, aristocratic parents and now was left to make her own way in the world. Raised only to trap a wealthy pure-blood husband, Miranda's use of magic was infantile at best. So, she waited tables at the Wizard's Inn, making her meager sickels, while keeping a roof over her head, and enjoying the occasional galleon as she propositioned customers who struck her fancy.

Well, since she'd already fallen, why not enjoy it? That was Miranda's motto.

When she returned to the swarthy, dangerous-looking stranger, she purposely brushed herself up against him. She heated as his dark eyes glazed with desire. When she at last made her sultry invitation, it was almost too easy. She knew she was going to be in for a very satisfying eve with the man who'd earlier swept into the inn, eyes ablaze.

**_The next morning... _**

Miranda awoke to a cold, empty bed. Pity. She still ached for the stranger who'd proved his stamina into and through to the early morning. Insatiable, she'd hoped for a quick morning romp as well. Each of their couplings had been so violently erotic, so penetrating that even now, in the bright sunshine, she was still sore and not of her right mind. She'd have to figure out how to manage a glamour charm to wipe away the bruising evidence from the Inn's patrons.

As she drifted off into sleep again, the contraceptive spell that she had been trying to place on herself before the stranger pulled her against him in the most possessive of manners was long forgotten.

_You'd think he'd never had a woman before, _was the last thought on her mind as she succumbed to her drowsiness.


	3. Learning in Solitude

**Hogwarts: Griffindor Tower  
1996: First Day, Sixth Year**

_**POV: Hermione**_

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* * *

_

"'Mione, you OK? You haven't been your usual chatty self," inquires Harry, sliding quietly beside me on the floor, in front of the fire. I stare at him with eyes too tired of crying. He looks at me a little alarmed at my silent stare.

"Something happened over the summer, Harry," I admit hastily. "It's... it's life changing news."

"You fall in love?" he jokes.

The question seems to jar Ron awake from his cat nap on the chaise. "Wha-?"

"No, of course not, Harry! " I cast a sidelong glance at him as I feel a blush creep up my neck. "Of course not! Nothing like that. It's more serious than _that_."

"More serious than love? Really?" He catches my silent gaze and I watch his twinkling green eyes sober. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. The names in the hospital file fill my mind.

_It's too soon, too raw and I need to do a more research first. _

I get up and send them both a sorrowful smile before heading up to the girls' dorm, back to that thick file of hospital records.

I need to learn all I can about my parent's real daughter, Emmanuelle, before I can formulate a clear plan to discover my own parents.

* * *

**Hogwarts: Slytherin Dungeons  
1996: First Day, Sixth Year**

_**POV: Draco**

* * *

_

The sorting is done and everyone's back in their assigned dorms. I escape the common room and shut the curtains around my bed. I've also thrown up a silencing spell to keep any noise I might make in my sleep to myself. Since Father's incarceration, inthe last few weeks at home, I've woken screaming from nightmares. It seems in dreams, I allow myself the weakness of showing fear. I am horrified that the same will happen here.

For the umpteenth time I hold the record of the prophecy in my hand. I feel desperately alone.

The white light within the orb burns bright as I focus on the cryptic message, trying to locate any clue that will help me to figure out this blasted prophecy. The message seems cut short, but who am I to question Father? I turn my eyes back to focus on the center of the globe.

"_There is one, a Slytherin heir, who will be the Dark Lord's most effective weapon against the one who threatens to vanquish him...He shall use her to weaken and overcome the powers of The Chosen One. For she alone can ensure that the one marked as His equal will not survive-"_

Female _and_ a Slytherin heir?

I shake my head. The Slytherin line is all but extinct as far as I know. This is impossible! I need someone to help me. Perhaps I can go to Snape. He's supposed to help me. That's what Father said. For some reason I don't want to go to my godfather and I haven't any inkling why.

"Oi! Malfoy, you in there?" Blaise Zabini is threatening to rustle the draperies that keep me hidden. I wipe my face with a shaky hand and stuff the orb beneath my pillow. Before he steps closer, I push my head out of a opening slit in the curtains.

"What do you want, Zabini?"

"Just checking if you were around. The lot of us are-"

"No. I'm tired." I rudely interrupt his unwanted invitation, quickly pulling my head back behind the curtains.

I scowl at the sound of his retreating voice swearing that he'll never try to include me again, no matter what any pretty witch asks of him.

_Don't these people know I have more serious things to contend with?_

I pull out the glowing ball again and hold it in front of me, willing my brain to work this time.

* * *

**FLASHBACK: ****1937-1955  
_Of Blood and Weasels_**

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Catherine Sengue was preparing for her first day at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Earlier, her mother, Miranda, sent her off with a teary goodbye, making her promise that she'd do much better in life than her barmaid mother. At last Miranda's galleons would be put to good use.

Catherine was quaking inside with the excitement of traveling to France and finally being able to receive formal training to use her magical powers. She was determined to be the best in her class. Smoothing down her errant, dark brown curls, she found her way to the first year coaches that would take her off to the mysterious Academy. In her pocket she held a wand with a dragonstring core. The Academy, she discovered, was shrouded in secrecy, a fact that delighted her mother. She'd discovered that her new school was unplottable, no one really knew where to find it unless they knew where to look. And this was particularly important to her mother who had her write that her last name was Senguis, _not_ Sengue.

Catherine had long stopped asking about her mum's relatives. As far as she knew, they'd only written to Miranda once in response to the news that she'd given birth to a little girl and that the father was a wizard from Little Hangleton. The nosey innkeeper, Miranda's boss, had confided that her mother had been in a deep depression for weeks after that letter came from her parents.

If they hated her mother enough to disown her, well then, Catherine wasn't about to give them the time of day. Yet, she still wondered about her father. Knowing her mum's habits, though, Catherine knew it was unlikely that Miranda even knew who sired her.

As she progressed in school, Catherine developed few friends, having spent most of her time in the great libraries of the Academy. By sixth year, she had no real romantic interests. She however, was top of her class and had every expectation to stay there. She was Beauxbatons' most clever witch.

Her last year brought the first Muggle Studies class to the Academy. The course included an unprecedented exchange program with Muggle England's University of Oxford. Catherine, of course, won placement in the program, bringing her to Muggle England for her last semester. It was through this program that she learned of Muggle-borne wizards. Some of the brightest, apparently, attended this prestigious university, having not previously been introduced to the wizarding community.

While at Oxford, Catherine met Leopold Mustelidae, a Muggle-borne wizard with unruly, bushy brown hair and dark, sparkling, knowledgeable eyes. His keen mind entranced her, they shared a desire to learn, a love of books, and together they made some powerful magic when, during their graduation summer, Catherine brought Leopold to Wizarding England, at last introducing him to Miranda.

Naturally, they fell in love and married, continuing to keep house in Muggle England, with the occasional visits to Little Hangleton. They were blessed with one child, a spirited, little brown-haired boy, the spitting image of his father.


	4. A Little Bit of History

**Hogwarts: Library  
1996: Second Day, Sixth Year**

_POV: Draco Malfoy_

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"Madame Pince, I'm especially interested in researching Salazar Slytherin and his descendants. Would you mind pointing me to a history book that outlines the great wizarding family trees?" I query, trying for an eager student voice, hoping she might reward me with the slow point of her bony finger.

"As a matter of fact, Mr. Malfoy, I _do_ mind."

My mouth hangs open as I watch the black-robed spinster turn and stride away from me. Annoyed, I march over to a most uncomfortable, wooden ladder-backed chair hidden in a corner among the shelves. I slouch into it, wracking my brain for the proper library location of a book like the one I just requested. It was just like Pince to use this as a _learning experience!_

A few minutes later, I hear a feminine voice ask an interesting question. I strain to hear the conversation.

"Madame Pince, I was wondering if you might have a book that lists the names of all wizarding families, preferably those that list and trace the family trees of those with names beginning with 'M' or maybe even "S'?

I watch the irritable librarian, who unerringly resembles a scary bird of prey, stare at the bushy-haired witch for a moment. Pince shakes her head as if to clear it.

"Yes, we do."

The way she answers seems to keep Granger from continuing. I peer around the corner, watching the know-it-all Gryffindor shift uncomfortably.

"Oh!... Well, might you tell me where I can find it?" she finally splutters.

"It's where it's always been, Miss Granger," the uncomfortably thin woman says matter-of-factly, adjusting her glasses, dismissively returning to her quill and parchment.

_Nice to know the old witch doesn't discriminate!_

I watch Granger huff irritably and move through the library as though she owns it. I shrug, figuring that if there is one person who knows where the book might be, it would be _her_. I stealthily follow the Mudblood into the stacks filled with references.

_References!_ _I should have thought of that! _

I mentally slap myself and my fear-muddled brain.

I stop on the other side of the bookshelf Granger's standing in front of and pretend to reach out for a tome in front of me. I watch the unconscious habit she has of running her own finger against the spine of each book as she reads the titles.

"Adding stalking to your long list of crimes, Malfoy?" I catch her brown-eyes glaring at me over the tops of the books from the other side of the open shelf.

I send her my signature smirk, my gaze trained on the ancient-looking book she now holds in her hand.

* * *

_**Minutes later...  
****Dubledore's Office**_

_******

* * *

**_

"Madame Pince, delightful surprise," Professor Dumbledore greets his head librarian, offering her some sherbet lemons.

He had a few extra on hand today. Harry seemed to like eating them after overly long Penseive gazing. Unfortunately, the day's lesson brought young Potter more understanding of Tom Riddle's past and his connection to the Gaunt family. Dumbledore sighs, trying to wipe away the memory of Harry's wide green eyes take in the knowledge of Tom's grisly past, and the worst secrets of pureblood families.

The headmaster slowly turns his attention to his newest visitor.

He nods as Mdm. Pince declines the sweet with an upheld hand. She wastes no time and launches directly into providing Dumbledore with the information he'd requested years ago.

"Albus, you asked me once to inform you if there was ever a student who requested a book about wizarding family names, particularly those of Slytherin, or beginning with 'S'."

"Yes, I recall, Irma," he answers slowly, worry lines forming on his craggy forehead. "And who was this student who asked?"

"There were _two_, Albus. Miss Hermione Granger and Mr. Draco Malfoy. Miss Granger also asked for 'M's' but that wasn't what you asked me to look out for," she stops, placing a hand on her hip. "What is most disconcerting is that they asked for the book within minutes of each other. After nearly _six_ years of that book sitting unmolested in its rightful place in the library, suddenly it garners this much interest? It is too much of a coincidence!"

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell me why?" the librarian asks, irritated.

"No." Dumbledore replies, absently stroking his long beard, "Only that it must be time, Irma. It must be time."

At the following sound of silence, the well-meaning librarian sniffs, turns, and sweeps her way out of the office.

Dumbledore sat down heavily in the chair at his desk, extracting a key on a chain around his neck. He fumbles with his desk for a moment and with a satisfying _click_, is able to pull open a hidden drawer. The wooden box inside levitates, requiring his ordered finger touch in a certain sequence to unlatch what looks like an intricate Chinese puzzle box. After several layers of puzzle-play, the box is open, hanging in mid-air to reveal his prize. His face is clouded as he gazes at the glowing white orb now in his grasp.

He smiles, vastly pleased to hear that the Malfoy boy was the one to have asked about the library book. At last the old professor is able to surmise the missing puzzle pieces of the prophecy, the very one he tore apart so long ago.

* * *

_**Author's note**: Sorry this one was so short... I'm trying to get Draco and Hermione into each chapter. _

_Incidentally, I love the fact that even though it's her story, I've managed to thoroughly confuse Violent Pixi *insert evil laugh here*. _


	5. Sharing

**Hogwarts, Library Stacks  
1996: Sept. 14, Sixth Year**

_**POV: Hermione Granger**_

_

* * *

_

There's a slight stiffening in his demeanor as I make it known that I am aware of his unwanted presence. But just as swiftly, Malfoy's stance, rigid at my discovery of him, is now lazy, leaning against the other side of the bookshelf we're speaking through.

"I think _you're_ the one who's stalking me, Granger." His languorous drawl grates at my already frayed nerves.

Of all the days, in all the stacks of the library, why must I have to deal with _this_ wretched creature? I sigh with exasperation as I gear up to speak the reply I know he expects. It is part of the now tired dance of disdain we've managed to tangled ourselves up in since he insulted the only two friends I'd managed to make on that very first train ride to Hogwarts.

"And dare I ask how, yet again, you manage to make me the villain in what is sure to be an unseemly drama unfolding in your small, twisted brain?" I ask, as offhandedly as I can muster. It is quite tiring to keep up with the witty repartee when I'm this wound up by my real life issues. Nevertheless, I carry on in my attempt to best him in our verbal spar. "It never ceases to surprise me, Malfoy, how you still somehow manage to come second in class only to me."

I watch his lips move from smirk to snarl, knowing full well how perturbed he gets when realizing he can't seem to best a _Mudblood_. As I examine what little of him I can see through the opening in the shelves, I notice his eyes narrow on the book in my hand. My grip instinctively tightens around its spine.

_Mine! _I think automatically as I see his facial expression exhibit the same sentiment of ownership.

"You asked for the same book from Pince as I did only minutes before," his tone accusing. "You saw her walk away without helping me. So, to amuse yourself, and annoy me in the extreme, you've come to abscond with it."

I look at him incredulously, amused by his accusation. My incredulity is short-lived as his foulness expresses itself in an even more ridiculous, self-centered continuation of his suspicions.

"If you desire my attentions, Granger, you need only ask."

If he weren't such a... a loathsome... snake... disinclined to ever get his scales dirtied by the likes of a Muggle-born, I'd almost think he's being _flirtatious_. The horror! The very idea of something so unsavory turns my mere annoyance at his presence into outright, blinding fury.

"What?!" I shout, outraged. "You _are_ mental, Malfoy! My life does not revolve around you as you'd, apparently, like it to." I allow myself a satisfied smile, this I do specifically to annoy him. I watch his grey eyes darken at my amusement. I wait a moment to continue my taunting. "So, you want this, do you?" I hold the book up between us, out of his reach, and blocking his face from my view. I wiggle it around in front of him, hoping to increase his desire for it. Then, I quickly tuck it under my arm.

"Granger! I _need_ that book."

_Impudent, bratty boy!_

"Well, I need it _more_, Malfoy! Besides," I say, resisting the urge to adopt a playground sing-song in my tone, "I found it first!"

The steel in his eyes flash as I make my possessive claim. He looks about ready to wrestle me for it.

"What _I_ need it for is far more pressing than _your_ trilfing essay for Binns which is due at the end of the semester," the sarcasm drips, his gaze mocks, but behind the condescension I note that he knows my habit of completing work far earlier than necessary to meet deadlines.

Unwilling to reveal the heart wrenching reason behind why I'm standing in the bowels of the library clutching at this dusty genealogy book, I sniff and stick my chin up in the air.

"Like I said, ferret, finders keepers."

With that, I turn my back to him. My movement is so quick that I feel my robe whip around my ankles. I do not hurry off, making a point to hold my head high. Unfortunately, my slow pace allows him to close the distance between us. Too soon, I hear the sound of his leather shoes stepping up behind me. He does not touch, but he's encroached on my personal space. He's never been this near. There is a trickle of fear running down my spine. I wonder idly if the sound of a scream can penetrate the walls. It is my turn to stand rigidly.

When at last he speaks, it is in a whisper against my ear. Malfoy's tone, unfamiliar.

"It is a reference book, Granger. Neither one of us can check it out of the library." He states the obvious as though confiding of a deep, dark secret. "Would you be so kind as to allow me to share it with you? It appears as though we are under the same time constraints."

The words are, dare I say, aristocratically _polite_. Absently, I notice he hasn't bothered to use _the_ magic word. His request is less of a plea, and more of a command, a soft one, but a command, nonetheless.

I do not turn to look up at him. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I feel my head move into a nod.

I climb the stairs up to the main area of the library with Malfoy at my heels.

* * *

**Flashback:** **1956 - Sept. 19, 1979  
Fiery Heart**

**

* * *

**

Aiden Mustelidae, son of Catherine and Leopold, grew up healthy and hale. To the great delight of his parents, an owl arrived right before his eleventh birthday inviting him to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It had been a running joke throughout his stay at Hogwarts that he'd been the greatest enigma to the Sorting Hat, which couldn't figure out which house he belonged. Aiden was the last to be called and he sat on the stool long into the night with the hat grumbling about having to separate students in the first place.

After having listened to the hat for so long, Aiden was never truly sure whether he really belonged in the house the Hat finally put him in. In the end, it seemed of relatively little consequence, for Aiden was a favorite in his class across house lines.

With dark brown curls a riot around his face, his sharp wit, and his clever ways with his wand and on the broomstick, Aiden spent seven years at the school a very popular wizard, indeed.

His parents were extremely proud of their boy.

During a summer in wizarding France, Aiden met Caroline Geonicy of Beauxbaton, a dark-haired, pure-blood beauty. Their romance began that summer of their sixth year, weaving a long-distance love story through their 7th year. They were married shortly after graduation, living in France during the Dark Lord's rising in wizarding England, having taken Aiden's parents with them. They returned in 1978 when his job as a Seer called Aiden and his family back to the place of his birth.

Upon relocating, they discovered Caroline would soon be heavy with child. The joy of this news, however, was very short-lived

A secret prophecy sent to Catherine by owl during Caroline's seventh month of pregnancy had her hiding her grandchild's identity with the help of magic. Her use of it was illegal since Catherine only had a mere minute with the baby at the Muggle hospital called, St. Andrews. She worked quickly to take heed of the foretold danger given to her by an unlikely source: an extremely dangerous man, a father she never knew, a foretelling corroborated by the family that scorned her mother.

Catherine knew that _she_ alone was the only one who could to save the baby.

Catherine never met her father face-to-face and she still possessed no desire to know the Senguis, neè Sengue, side of her family tree. All she discovered of her familial past was that her father was Morfin Gaunt, the last remaining descendent of Salazar Slytherin. The words on her father's owl post told her that if she wanted her innocent granddaughter to live, she would have to carry the secret of her ancestry to the grave.

No one knew.

She worried that Aiden, might, considering his great power as a Seer, but he never indicated any knowledge. Even Caroline and Leopold always wondered how the newest Mustelidae came to have such uncharacteristically beautiful, golden hair.

* * *

**FLASHBACK: 1991  
Remember the Mustn'ts  
**

**

* * *

**

"Now, as the Sorting Hat, it is important you are aware of the partial truth of a very strange prophecy that I now have to share with you," Hogwarts' headmaster Dumbledore told the grimy hat on the stool. Watching the grumpy hat, Dumbledore took a bite out of the chocolate frog in his hand.

The Sorting Hat _hurrumpphhed_, disinclined to show any interest in the headmaster's curious words.

"There will be one among the first years who will seem to have the blood of one of the founding wizards coursing through her. You are not allowed to speak of this to the child. You _musn't_." Dumbledore's unusually commanding tone emphasized the great need to keep the secret of the prophecy. The hat suppressed the urge to argue. "It will be the end of this student and of all of us if you do not abide my warning," glowered the headmaster. "Sort the child in any house but the one belonging to _that_ wizard. By doing so, you will protect us all from danger."

"Will this mis-sorting help us 'Stand together to be strong from within?' then?" the hat asked.

"That it will," mumbled the headmaster. "That it will."


	6. Revelations

**Hogwarts: Library  
Sixth Year, nearly a week after agreeing to share with Malfoy**

_POV: Hermione_

_

* * *

_

I stare into the main study room and frown at what I discover. I'd purposely chosen tonight, after Slughorn's dinner to come to the library. Alone.

_Blast, him!_

Though his back is to the doorway, I'd know that peculiar shade of blond anywhere.

_He_ is here.

Of course he _would_ be! He _would_ remember the day we'd be given the book back. Of course, he'd beat me here so he could hog the book that _I_ found first.

_Irritating Slytherin!_

It had been his fault that Mdm. Pince had nearly ripped the book from my hands on the day I allowed him to look at it with me. And he was the one who started the shouting match! I roll my eyes at the memory of his high and mighty claim that he should be given first opportunity to study it.

The memory catches flight in my mind's eye. I grind my teeth at the unwanted recall of how I'd noticed that his blond hair was uncharacteristically untidy that afternoon. It fell onto his face, tapping his forehead with each of his angry retorts. I had stopped listening to his words, almost mesmerized at the sight of his hair askew. Then I'd begun wondering if he'd been running his long fingers through his hair to set the locks free. If so, then, what was causing his worry? Such a nervous habit is typical Harry, _not_ Malfoy-esque in the least!

My anger at myself for caring even a smidgen about the dark circles under his eyes had me taking my fury out on him, by loudly calling him a bigoted, righteous bastard. And it was his sharp intake of breath that made me aware of Mdm. Pince sweeping down on us and plucking the book from my hands with a firm reprimand.

Disgusted with myself all over again, I try to shake off the offensive thoughts, upset that I can't stop my curiosity about him.

_Stupid, arrogant, unusually well-coiffed ... ugh!_

I set my jaw and stride over to the lone figure at the study table at the far end of the library.

"Malfoy, it's my turn."

"Go away, Granger." His voice is again that unfamiliar quiet command. Malfoy's aforementioned fingers quickly cover the notes on his parchment, hiding whatever he's got written from my eyes. I narrow my gaze at his pointed face.

"If you've gotten that far down in your notes, it is now _my_ turn!" I say through clenched teeth. Then I stomp over to the other side of the study table. In utter frustration, I nearly throw my book bag on top of it. To my horror, my bag flips open, everything is sliding around on the table top, and most of my bag's contents spill out over Malfoy's work area.

"GRA-nger!" Malfoy very nearly shouts the first syllable, but mid-outburst seems to realize that the book could be taken away again, so, lowers his tone to a gravelly snarl. "What in bloody _hell_ are you doing!?"

I don't bother to answer his question because I'm frantically trying to stuff everything back into my bag.

_Of all the days to carry the file around!_

In slow motion, I watch the gormless rat, reach out and pick up the very thing I do not wish for _anyone_, much less _him_, to see. Before I can even make myself reach for it, the picture of the pretty, smiling, blonde girl is upheld, pinched between his thumb and index finger.

"Who is _this_, Granger?"

I launch myself over the table, my arm outstretched trying to snag the upheld photograph away from him. His quick Quidditch reflexes, however, have me falling over the table onto my half-empty bag and, thankfully, the hospital file.

"Your girlfriend?" His grey eyes hold a malicious twinkle.

"Give it back, Malfoy," I demand.

His self-satisfied smile makes me want to slap him. He takes a look at it again and his eyebrows knit together. Then he shakes it. Peers at it. Frowns, then shakes it again.

"What's wrong with it? Why isn't she moving?"

"It's not a magical picture." I say, shoving the file into my bag while he is preoccupied with the photo.

"It's a Muggle photograph?" The ferret seems genuinely intrigued. "She's pretty," he murmurs. "Who is she?"

"A pen pal in Muggle England," I mumble, unable to meet his eye. His immediate assessment of her hurts a little and I'm afraid to examine why.

"You're lying," he accuses. His watchful eyes sees the tell-tale signs of my lame attempt at deception.

_Blast my utter lack of practice at attaining sneaky Slytherin cunning!_

I notice that my hand, which has been busily pulling items into the bag, has miraculously fallen onto his parchment. I grasp onto it, a triumphant smile on my face. He sees the change in my expression and his eyes widen. He seems as horrified at my possession of his notes as I am of his hold on my photo.

"Give it back, Granger!"

His words are spoken in a low growl.

"Only after I get the picture back," I respond tartly. I can't help but glance at his notes. I am impressed by his precise handwriting. He's listed the following names: Slytherin, Gaunt, Peverell, Riddle, Harry Potter? As I examine his parchment, Malfoy seems to notice something on the back of the photo, momentarily forgetting my possession of his notes.

"Emmanuelle Senguis Mustelidae," he mutters, his eyes whipping around to meet mine to see if my face will give away any answers.

I pretend not to hear and instead propose we swap on three. He looks at me quizzically at what is apparently a foreign Muggle saying to him. I stop to explain how we count to three together and trade the items we have in our hands when we say three.

He stares at his parchment in my hand, which I continue to look at, trying to figure out the connection between the names.

He looks at my photo, as if trying to memorize the name on the back of it.

Then, he nods.

We move within arms length of each other.

"_One-_" we whisper, our eyes meet.

"_Two-_" our free hands reach out to the other's filled one.

"_Three_-" with itchy fingers we each grab hold of the desired items in the other's hand.

Neither one of us lets go. We tug against the other. Our eyes haven't wandered and there remains a tense challenge between us, our teeth visible in near identical snarls.

"Let go!" We each snap the demand through gnashing teeth, not wanting to attract Pince's attention, but determined to let each other know we mean serious business.

In quiet frustration, we simultaneously tighten our hold on the items still in the hand of the other. The movement has his fingers grasping mine which have encircled his rolled-up parchment. At the same time, my hand closes around his fingers still holding onto the picture.

I gasp at the shock of electricity that shoots through me as I feel the strength of his hands in and around mine.

I am immensely gratified to see the look of alarm cross his face at my touch, indicating that he isn't unmoved by the sudden physical awareness either.

Suddenly, it is imperative that I allow him to take the parchment. I let go as I feel his hold release on the photo.

As we reclaim our items, we continue to stare at each other, unsettled. This time there is clear curiosity intermingled with the usual animosity in his eyes. His gaze is penetrating.

"Why do _you_ need the book, Granger?"

"I should ask _you_ the same, Malfoy."

We are silent again.

Within this stretch of time, we take our respective seats across the table from one another. The still-open book is between us. Neither one of us attempts to move toward it. I look at him again and there is an exchange of what I can only label as wary, yet weary looks.

I catch some frustration in his exhausted expression. I understand these feelings. They reflect the very ones that have kept me awake since that fateful summer day. The darkness under his eyes indicate to me that he's not getting much beauty sleep either.

I catch a glimpse of lonely vulnerability flicker in his eyes. His look touches something deep inside me.

Making my decision, I open my mouth to speak...

_

* * *

Mustelidae household: Master Bedroom  
Summer of Sixth Year, June 20, 1996

* * *

_

Leopold holds his wife's icy hand in his. A tear threatens to fall from the corner of his eye as he watches his wife rest after her last bout of chemotherapy. He sees her eyes flutter open and a weak smile graces her lips. Her brown curls gone, a shiny pate left in its place. He runs his palm against her scalp. He hears her murmur at his touch.

"What is it, darling?" he asks her quietly. "What can I get you?"

"I think it's time to tell you, sweetheart," her whisper barely audible. "There are things I've kept from you. Secrets you must know now so you can safeguard our granddaughter."

"Emma?"

Their granddaughter's name hangs in the medicine-scented air. It holds a confused question.

Catherine uses what little energy she has left to shake her head, no.

"Leopold, forgive me for this." she breathes, closing her eyes.

"Anything. There is nothing I can not forgive you." He gently takes her hand, willing beyond hope to hold her to this time and space.

"Emma is not Aiden's daughter, Leo." She watches her husband register the shock of the news.

Leo's hand tightens in hers, signaling that he's ready to hear the rest.

"There is another. Our _real_ granddaughter. Find her. Tell her. Protect her from harm."

* * *

Hogwarts: Ravenclaw Tower  
Sixth Year, while Hermione and Draco are fighting in the library

* * *

Unable to concentrate on their studying, Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe sit in their Common room staring again at the familiar portrait of the 7th year Ravenclaw. The girls sigh at the sight of him. They look at each other and giggle as the boy in the painting draws hearts in the air and pretends to blow the hearts at them.

His brown eyes twinkle. His smile produces a deep dimple in his right cheek. Through what every Ravenclaw surmises is a curse, the boy in the picture is rendered mute, only able to silently mouth his words. This is always as it has been. The theory is, an angry 7th year studying for the O.W.L.S. became extremely frustrated with his suggestive words that the student hexed the portrait so no sound could ever be made by the effigy of the unknown Ravenclaw.

Regardless the reason for his silencing, it seems that the no-named painted boy races around within his confines looking for ways to communicate, but to no avail. Mostly, though, he just stares back at the Ravenclaw girls who decided they want to spend their study time gazing at him.

A right flirt that handsome boy must've been, Cho thinks to herself.

Only in Ravenclaw could such a distracting portrait of a gorgeous upperclassman be on display where most of the girls of the house do their studying. Upon closer thought, however, perhaps the crowd of females in the Common room isn't such a coincidence after all.

Though it's only their second week, Cho and Marietta are swamped with homework. They know they have to get it done, but as in previous years, their eyes keep straying to the picture. The brass plate that should have been hanging on the frame to identify the boy had long been missing. The only evidence that one even existed were two neatly placed holes where the nails would have been to hold such a name plate down. His identity continued to be a bothersome puzzle in a house full of curious minds.

"Has anyone figured out his name yet?" Marietta gestures toward the portrait. She loudly directs her question to the group of First and Second Years mulling around. It was sort of a tradition in the tower to give the younger students the task of discovering the name of the mystery Ravenclaw. No one, at least since Cho and Marietta had been First Years burdened with the same task, has had any luck.

Cho clucks at her best friend, but her gaze softens again as her eyes return to the boy in the portrait.

"His wild hair reminds me of Cedric," she whispers, brushing the end of her quill against her cheek, adding, "but it's a little darker, like Harry's."

Marietta bites off a smile. She's tremendously glad to see her best friend healing. She'd experienced so much heartache this past year.

Suddenly, the entrance to the tower burst open as Marcus Belby strides in, apparently just back from the Slughorn Dinner Party.

"I don't think I made the Slug Club," Marcus announces, unnaturally cheery, "but I do think I managed to piece together the name of the bloke in the painting."

Puffing out his chest, he says,"His name is. . ." Marcus waits until all eyes are on him, "Aiden Mustelidae."

Out of the corner of her eye, Cho sees the boy in the portrait perk at the sound of the name.


	7. Ravenclaw Revealed

**Ravenclaw Revealed**

**_In the Halls...  
POV: DRACO_**

* * *

I sit on a wide window ledge in one of the darkened hallways, awaiting my Arithmancy class. My mind wanders to the night before when Granger held that ridiculously offensive expression of pity and offered her assistance to discover whatever I was looking for in the Slytherin line.

I'd scoffed at her suggestion that I would lower myself to work with the likes of her. Bloody know-it-all! As if _I_ would require any assistance whatsoever! After all, it seemed she was the one who was in need of my help! I, however, unceremoniously left her with the genealogy book before my muddled mind took it upon itself to suggest such madness.

I'd picked this ledge for privacy. It was situated in a way I could hear anyone coming around the corner. So far, all was silent as I continue staring at the parchment, trying to piece the Slytherin family tree together. I slap the stone beneath me in frustration each time I come to the dead end of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle Sr. spawning the vile Tom Marvolo Riddle. It was only in my mind I could give voice to this thought, for now, the half-blood spawn in question is known throughout the wizarding world as none other than the Dark Lord himself, Voldemort to imbeciles with a deathwish who would dare call him by name.

I have never spoken the Dark Lord's chosen name myself, acquiescing to my father's desire to rise to the upper echelons of the Dark Lord's twisted society. Since becoming so entrenched in Father's dealings with him, I personally am coming to realize I have no stomach for the rung-climbing Father thrives on. Had it not been for the sake of being sole heir to the Malfoy name, and for the filial love I possess for my mother, and yes, my father, I would have run away, taking Mother with me, the practical coward that I am, to await the end of this upcoming war in some far off corner of the planet.

Tired, with the numerous Slytherin names swimming in font of my eyes, I close my potions book over the parchment and catch again the name I'd hastily scribbled on it, the name I'd memorized on the back of Granger's muggle photograph of the pretty blonde girl.

"... and so Marcus comes into the Common room and announces he knows who the bloke is in the mystery portait," the owner of the voice is approaching the corner and I'm half listening to the conversation. "He says the Ravenclaw's name is Aiden Mustelidae."

At the sound of the surname, I startle. The name just spoken is the very same as the one scribbled on the back of my parchment. It is too uncommon a name to be a mere coincidence. I throw my bookbag over my shoulder, slide from the ledge, and position myself so the owner of the feminine voice will have to run into me as she turns the corner.

"And when he says the name, Cho was looking at the portrait and...Ooomphf..." I feel the girl's soft, shapely body collide with mine. Having expected this, I hold her shoulders to keep her from toppling. "Oh, I am so sor-, Draco?!"

"Marietta," I paste my most beguiling smile on my face, knowing this girl has had a bit of a schoolgirl crush on me since third year. How fortuitous. "You must be completely engrossed in your conversation to bother looking ahead of you."

I watch her face flush and she blusters through her apology. I wave at her to tell her wordlessly that it's of no matter. She stands wide-eyed, wondering why I do not begin my tongue-lashing of her encroaching upon my person. Knowing Marrietta to be an insufferable gossip, I only do what is beneficial to a Slytherin like me and inquire, "So what is it that you are talking about that has you plowing into innocents such as myself?"

"Why, the mystery of the Ravenclaw portrait appears to have been untangled, Draco! It's the talk of the house!" I try not to scoff at how a Malfoy cares not about whatever nonsense goes on in other common rooms.

But the name!

The unknown girl who Marietta had been speaking to catches one sideways glance at my haughty, dismissive glare and skitters away as fast as her little legs can carry her. I smile back at the Ravenclaw standing next to me. Marietta is all but salivating at the sight of my highly hailed good looks and appears nearly beside herself at the thought of my bestowing her with my undivided attention. I flash her my most dashing grin, offering her my elbow, through which she threads her arm as if it is the most natural thing in the world for her to do. I try not to cringe away from her.

"And so, do tell, Marietta!" I reply, feigning rapt interest, though I am biting back an urge to gag. As expected she then goes on a rather detailed retelling of the story and it is not until she gets to the part where Marcus Belby, who'd just come from Slughorn's dinner, announces that the painting is of a certain Aiden Mustelidae that I perk up.

"What do you know of this Mustelidae fellow?"

"Only what Slughorn told Marcus," she shrugs, "He seems to have gone to school with the likes of our parents and was the golden boy of his year. He was first prefect, then headboy, quidditch god. By Slughorn's account, he was top of his class and well liked by all, regardless of house. " I could almost hear the dreamy sigh forthcoming and I scowl in preparation for it.

"Sounds perfectly disgusting," I add through my clenched teeth.

"Why Draco, you sound _perfectly_ jealous!" she twitters.

"No, just curious, I'd have thought my father would mentioned him since it seems they might have been here at the same time."

"Oh, I doubt you're father would care about a half-blood, Draco," she purrs beside me.

My ears start ringing at Marietta's casual comment. At my enigmatic expression and the sudden dropping of my arm that had been holding hers, Marietta looks alarmed, as though preparing for a verbal put down. Too caught up in the mystery of the muggle girl in Granger's picture, I bid a hurried farewell and make my way back to the Hogwart's library.

* * *

_**In the Library…  
POV: Hermione**_

* * *

"Why do you need the bloody book, Granger?!"

I concentrate on ignoring him and focus on my uninterrupted page turning. I slide my hand with quill still in it, over my notes, covering the name I'd been trying to look up. The parchment quickly rolls up at my touch and lands swiftly onto my lap, just as I'd bewitched it to do - precautionary actions that I've taken since the last time I'd been in the library with him.

_Arrogant prat!_

"Why, Malfoy, such a pleasant salutation certainly deserves similar response," I reply calmly, "It's none of your bloody business."

For emphasis, I loudly shut the book I'd been looking at, belatedly realizing that it is not the same as the one as he and I had been fighting over. He notices my hand move over the book title and his eyes narrow suspiciously.

_Damn it!_

I move to grip the spine to cover the words there as well.

"That's not the book!" he hisses at me.

"And so, it is not! I am allowed to read whatever book I like," I say haughtily, my chin lifting. "This is, after all, a library, filled with all sorts of them."

In the midst of my eye-rolling, I fail to notice him come closer and moving like a viper on attack, his hand is already gripping the book in my hands. I instinctively tighten my fingers around the tome, but his strength prevails and I'm left empty-handed as he wears a look of utter triumph.

Rolling the book in his hand so that the spine is within his view, I watch the ferret's steely eyes alight on the letter at the bottom of the binding.

_Why must I be burdened with the likes of him while I'm minding my own business? Why?!_

"Why wizarding families with the surnames of, 'M' then, Granger?" His tone is too smug and it sends tingling jolts of warning down my spine. He knows something. And he, unfortunately is much brighter than the likes of Harry and Ron, to be thrown off easily from my own witch hunt.

"I decided it wasn't worth it to fight over the S book with you," I say quickly, my gaze downcast, staring at the parchment in my lap. "I decided to change who I'll be researching for Binn's class."

"You're a liar."

"You would know," I say not bothering to add that it takes one to know one. I realize I am too tired to be annoyed. "Why do you care anyway? You'll have the book all to yourself now."

I feel his gaze on me, taking in my defeated, exhausted frame. I'm so tired of pretending that none of this is bothering me. I think I hear him swear softly as I catch movement from the corner of my eye. He approaches with book extended, but not before he's interrupted.

"Leave her alone, Malfoy," the voice is barely controlled rage, a sound that I dislike hearing from this friend of mine.

"Potter," the blond acknowledges with disdain. "Just returning a book to the Mu-"

I see Harry's move his hand to grip his wand. I reach out to refrain him, and catch Malfoy's gaze darken as my hand reaches out to touch Harry's.

"Don't," I whisper, not really knowing which one I'm talking to.

"I came to bring you to lunch, Hermione," Harry says gently, ignoring the boy standing near us, taking my offered hand into his. "You haven't been eating properly for all this studying. You'll never make it to exams if you carry on like this."

I notice Malfoy's approach again, sneering at our casual handholding. He drops the book loudly on the desk. "It seems we'll have to be sharing library space for the duration of this. So, listen to Potty, Granger. Keep up with sustenance, it wouldn't be any fun to torment a skeleton who's lost her wit. "

I'm not sure which of the three of us is more shocked at what almost sounds like poorly concealed concern and perhaps even admiration in his voice.

Before I can begin to fool myself into believing that there might be a kind bone in the ferret's body, he sidles up close, just enough for me to catch a whiff of his expensive cologne, but not near enough to raise too much ire from the boy beside me. I feel his breath move the wisps of hair at my temple, Harry's hand tightens its grip on mine. Then Malfoy whispers, "You're lying, Granger, and perhaps you don't believe a word that comes from my mouth, but here's one truth. You're never going to find her name in that book. That girl, Emmanuelle, she's a squib, isn't she?"

Before I can summon the effort to knit my brow and quiz him further, he'd already turned and gone.

_Infuriating git!_

"What was that about, Hermione?" Harry asks too nonchalantly that it is impossible for me not to note his concern.

"It's nothing, Harry," I reply. "We were just having an argument over some facts concerning Binn's essay."

"For crying out loud, Hermione! That's not due until the end of the semester! Besides, why work on it with Malfoy of all things? You hate him!"

I scoff.

"Hardly! He saw me working on it and now he's got his knickers in a twist about his scores, which have always been just short of stellar. He's been searching me out at the library, taunting me about how he's going to get higher marks this time," I shrug, trying to appear unbothered. "I suppose he's getting tired of being bested by a Mudblood."

My lies seem to placate Harry and I am somewhat alarmed at how easily they trip from my lips. It seems that just being in the same vicinity as the sneaky blond Slytherin brings out my more evil tendencies. We finally enter the Great Hall which is aflutter with news from the Ravenclaw table.

We near the Gryffindor table and are nearly attacked by Ginny, who has been unable to rip her gaze from our clasped hands. She moves between us and we separate. She takes the opportunity to catch hold of both our hands and pull us toward the Ravenclaws. As we move through the Great Hall, I notice a platinum blond head who had been moving toward the Slytherin table, also being caught up with the Ravenclaw news since Marietta has just found a place at his side.

I unconsciously clench my teeth at the sight of them.

"It's been the talk of the morning," Ginny informs us breathlessly. "Thanks to Slughorn, Belby's finally figured out some riddle that's been plaguing the Ravenclaws since the dawn of time!"

Harry and I exchange quizzical looks over Ginny's redhead.

"Uh, Ginny, why should we care?" Harry asks confused. I, for one, am not so daft as to fail to realize that the sole reason for Ginny's sudden interest in the blue and bronze house is her immediate need to physically separate her longtime crush from the likes of me.

"Well, they're finally going to let some of us into their tower to tell us the story! I for one want to satisfy my curiosity about their common room" Ginny insists. "You know that none of us - well, maybe not you, Hermione - but the rest of us would never be able to get into it because of those horridly pesky riddles they use as passwords."

A crowd has already gathered around the Ravenclaw table and I let go of Ginny's hand. I feel Malfoy's presence at my back.

_ Ugh!_

There is nothing more I'd rather do than spend the day curled up next to Crookshanks on my bed. But with Harry next to me and Malfoy behind and one of the Weasley's besides, I feel boxed in, an unwilling witness to whatever this new pastime was about. Neither Harry nor Ginny should really be here, considering their history with Michael Corner and Chang Cho. But here we are, regardless, and now the Ravenclaws are getting their 15 minutes of fame.

Each Ravenclaw seems to have decided that they'll be escorting the entrance of a non-house member to their common room.

_Utterly ridiculous._

Marcus Belby suddenly full of self-importance has granted himself the job of pairing people up. "Cho, take Potter. Michael, take Ginny." I notice both of my Gryffindor friends begin to protest.

"Marietta, have you gone barmy? Ugh, fine! Take Malfoy, then."

And just as I think I'll be spared the trip to the west tower, I hear Harry speak up. "Marcus, what about Hermione?"

"There's no one left to bring her, Harry."

"For godssakes, Belby, let the muggle come," Malfoy's unusually benevolent words combined with his scornful tone both work to confuse and silence the crowd. "It might be the most exciting thing she's yet to have ever experienced in her sad little life. With all her pronounced love for the History of Hogwarts, Granger's bound to be nearly wetting herself at the chance to see your notorious common room."

I turn to glare at Malfoy.

"It's OK, Marcus, I don't need to go," I mumble, unaware until the words pass through my lips that I'd unwittingly offered up a double entendre.

A snicker breezes through the gathered group like a sick wind, and I see Malfoy's smirk loom large. Color blossoms on my cheeks.

"I have to meet Ron at the quidditch pitch anyway. Why don't I let Cho escort Hermione."

"I have other things to do, Belby. Marietta, can tow the Gryffindor know-it-all up your tower."

The words are spoken simultaneously by both Harry and, surprisingly enough, Malfoy. I stare at both of them open-mouthed.

While the boys glare at each other another blonde head slides through the crowd.

"Why should anyone be left out? We'll all go," announces Luna breathily, having just joined her housemates and threading her arm through mine, "I'll bring you, Hermione. I can help keep the wrackspurts away, anyway," she whispers confidentially to me.

* * *

**_In Ravenclaw Tower  
POV: Harry_**

* * *

I can feel Ginny's stare boring into the back of my head. Because of this, I keep a full arms length away from Cho, who seems to be just as mindful of keeping a cushion of air between us, too. Ahead of me, I watch Malfoy's blond head next to Marietta. Though he seems engrossed in conversation, I notice his gaze stray toward Hermione every so often, as though keeping track of the fact that she continues to follow the herd to Ravenclaw Tower.

"… and so, every First Year is given the task of discovering the name of the bloke in the mysterious painting," explains Marcus.

"He's hardly mysterious, Marcus," mutters Cho besides me. "Every Ravenclaw girl knows that if he were around today, there would be no doubt what he'd be after."

"And he'd get it, too. Prefect, Quidditch Captain, Head Boy his last year. All the girls swooning after him..."

"Don't give his name away yet!" Marcus scolds. " We're nearly there!"

The door's eagle, a talking bronze knocker says,

"**Feed me and I Live. Give me Drink and I Die. What Am I?**"

_What?_ I think to myself._ Thank gods I'm not Ravenclaw! I'd be out here all night!_

"It's _fire_, Harry!" Hermione turns and hisses at me. She seem more annoyed at my fidgeting than excited as I thought she might be at being given our first glimpse into the Ravenclaw Common Room.

"Excellent, Miss-… why, you aren't in Ravenclaw!" the eagle knocker says, it's one eye pointedly staring at my best friend.

"Errm.. No, I'm not, I'm with Gryffindor, but," Hermione seemed oblivious to her audience, conversing with the knocker. "…the Sorting Hat thought to place me in Ravenclaw. I'm Hermione Granger."

"… and bookworm, extraordinaire!" claims one voice behind us.

"Interesting," the knocker says impressed. "Well, Miss Granger, since you are in the presence of Miss Lovegood, I welcome you to Ravenclaw's Common."

I watch the door swing open and we file into a round room, filled with blue hangings and fat armchairs. The domed ceiling is painted with stars, and features a replica statue of Rowena wearing her diadem. The room offered a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. An audible gasp at the beauty of the room comes from the first-time visitors.

"So, the painting we're about to unveil is the mystery man in the portrait… He graduated in 1975."

"After Father," I hear Malfoy mutter behind me.

_Before mine,_ I think to myself.

I watch Marcus move over to the area behind us and pull on a bronze tie-back, revealing to us the image of an extremely good looking bloke, who had it not been for the mop of bushy-brown hair and impish smile, looked a whole hell of a lot like…

"Oh my gods, it's Tom Riddle!" Ginny's gargled gasp hits me in the gut as I catch her in my arms while she's sliding away from Michael and onto the floor. The crowd is so thick that only Michael and I notice her dead faint. Hermione is still beside me staring studiously at the fellow in the painting who was now smiling and waving as though marching in some Muggle parade. I can't help but notice Malfoy's stepped back to align himself next to Hermione, giving himself an unobstructed view of her face as Marcus finally reveals the mystery Ravenclaw's name.

"According to Slughorn, this is Aiden Mustelidae."

I hear another gasp to my right and see Hermione go white and sway on her feet. To my absolute shock, it is Malfoy's hands that steady her.


	8. Hogwarts Men

**Hogwarts Men**

_

* * *

Ravenclaw Common Room  
POV: Draco Malfoy

* * *

_

I catch her with my hands before she falls and dirties my impeccable robes. I can't help but wonder why Granger would have such a violent reaction to the revelation of the Ravenclaw's name in the portrait.

The fragrance of Granger's apricot scent, caught in the wayward strands of her curly long hair, tickles my nose, surprising me at its utter femininity. The heat and slight weight of her back, only inches from my chest warms me. Simply having these undesired thoughts flit through my tense brain has my stomach roiling with the need to retch.

_She is not a Pureblood! _I scream in my head.

I catch myself and my straying thoughts as I bodily throw the Insufferable Know-It-All onto Cormac McLaggen who just happens to be standing beside me. Looney Luna whips something out of her robe and sprays Granger's face with it as I focus my violent disgust on dusting my hands off on my now wrinkled and possibly germ-infested robes.

_Blasted Mudblood and her propensity to overreact to such trifling things! Now I have to have a house elf place an antibacterial charm on my robes and add extra starch!_

"It's a spray-on version of Pepper-Up Potion," Lovegood explains melodically, "I've been working on it in class. It works like Muggle smelling salts." She deftly hands the spray bottle to Potty who uses it to wake up the Weaselette.

Whatever it is that Luna has in the spray bottle certainly works like a … _well_… like a charm. Both Gryffindor girls shake off their befuddled haze.

While I note that Granger's gaze hastens to the boy in the portrait, the youngest weasel keeps her eyes firmly averted.

_Interesting, that._

I surreptitiously take another glance at the Gryffindor bookworm and am greeted with the revolting sight of her and McLaggen making moon eyes at each other. I shake my head slightly, only to feel the unwanted weight of Potter's gaze on me and his internalization of my every reaction to Granger's movements.

I return his unrepentant stare with a narrowed glare of my own, and watch The-Boy-Who-Will-Not-Die also catch sight of McLaggen's hands all over the muggle witch. I don't know why it surprises me to see a tightening of his jaw and a touch of possessiveness in his slitted green gaze.

"So, what is it about this Aiden fellow that has all the girls swooning?" one lone masculine voice inquires of the group.

"Notice it's only the Gryffindors who faint dead away? Seems the birds of _that_ house hardly ever catch sight of a _real_ man," I chime in with a smug chuckle, preening as a few of the girls in the other three houses look adoringly my way. The appreciative guffaws of the blokes _not_ in the scarlet and gold house fill the tower room.

"Well, whatever it is this Muestilde's got, we should get the Weasley twins to bottle it up and sell it," continues the faceless voice, "I'd give my eye teeth to have girls react to the sight of me in that way."

"If you give your eye teeth, Justin, the girls will surely faint dead away at your horrifying ugliness," jokes another male voice as the girls twitter.

"It's much easier to learn how to play a guitar and sing, _Romeo_," I hear the now conscious, and standing, Granger softly mutter at the Hufflepuff Mudblood, Finch-Fletchley.

I lift an eyebrow at Granger's mumbled side comment. I take another look at the portrait and realize there is something eerily familiar about the boy in the painting. I store that thought to ponder later.

With a swish of my robes, I turn to go.

It seems I have more important things to do, after all.

_

* * *

In the Corridor Outside Ravenclaw Tower  
POV: Hermione Granger

* * *

_

Harry's grip on my upper arm is a little tighter than necessary.

"You can let go now, Harry," I say loudly at him, unable to shake his hold. He seems rather upset. "I'm able to walk on my own, just like Ginny." I motion toward the redhead who is a couple of steps ahead of us, late for her Potions class.

"Ginny, we'll see you later," Harry calls. She waves with a smile which turns into a slight frown at the sight of him still gripping my arm. I wave at her lamely, shooting Harry an annoyed glare.

As soon as she is out of sight, Harry pushes me against a wall, next to a statue, making it look like he's reading the riot act to one of the statuesque coats of armor. He's got one palm against the stone near my head.

"What's going on with you and McLaggen? Or better yet, Hermione, what's going on with you and _Malfoy_?" His tone is just a touch too inappropriately overprotective for my comfort.

"What are you on about, Harry? Have you gone completely mental? McLaggen caught me when I… "

_What did happen to me in there?_ _One second I was standing there examining the portrait of a rather handsome 7th year Ravenclaw, who could quite possibly be my birth father, then all I remember is black._

I feel Harry give me a little shake and I'm snapped out of my reverie. I slap his hands away.

"It wasn't McLaggen who caught you on your slide to the floor, Hermione, it was _Malfoy_."

"_What_?!" I shriek, utterly disturbed. "How could you let that rat _touch_ me?!"

Comforted by my abject horror at the thought of Malfoy's hands on me, Harry sighs apologetically and finally drops his hands to his sides.

"My hands were full at the time. Ginny fainted dead away, too." He sees me start to feel badly that his initial instinct was to catch Ginny. "She was closer and she fainted _first_," he blusters through his explanation quickly. "Ginny lost it just as she laid eyes on the painting. It wasn't until you _heard_ Marcus say the fellow's name that you went white as a sheet. That's not like you, Hermione."

Behind his spectacles his green eyes continue to examine me.

I hear a scuffing on the cobblestones nearby and I lower my voice a little, an errant smile touches my lips.

"I know why I reacted the way I did, but why did Ginny?" I ask my best friend, shifting under his scrutiny.

"Why _did_ you… act that way?" Harry demands.

I shake my head, "You tell me about Ginny first, Harry."

Then suddenly, as if making up his mind to do so, Harry steps in closer. His lips a thin line as though recalling a horrid memory.

I can feel his warmth surround me. When had he gotten so tall? My eyes glaze, his scent so familiar, _but_… and then, I notice his angry stance change. He's staring at me now, as though it's the first time he's ever truly looked at me.

"If it weren't for the hair," he reaches out to stroke down my unruly locks, "…and his cheeky smile," his fingertip trails along my suddenly quirked lips. He shakes his head as though in a daze and his hand quickly drops away. In truth, Harry's always been at ease with touching me, but _this_? I decide I'm officially confused by his actions since seeing me with Malfoy in the library earlier.

"Well, that Ravenclaw," he continues, clearing his throat, "sure looked a lot like the Tom Riddle of the notorious diary down in the famed Chamber of Secrets. It was _that_ shocking."

I let out a horrified gasp, my hand flies to my mouth, as he nods, putting his own in his trouser pockets.

"So, now tell me your reason," Harry urges.

I purposely louden my whisper, though I move my face against Harry's so I don't have to look at him in the eye. I feel him go stock-still as the softness of my cheek slides against the rougher skin of his.

_Fascinating, this._

I'm talking into his ear as though confiding a deep dark secret. I make sure my profile is clear of the sanctuary of the suit of armor.

"There's someone back home, a new friend, sort of. _She_ was an orphan." From my peripheral vision, I watch Harry's confused gaze, which is now focused on me, turn soft. I know this is something Harry is moved by. I also register another whisper of movement to my far left. "She's the adopted daughter of my parents' close friends. We'd spent some time together over the summer and well, I'd wondered, idly if this girl might be magical. So, it was a shock to discover that her last name is the same as that Aiden fellow in the Ravenclaw painting. I think… _he_ might be her dad."

"What's her name?" Harry asks.

"Her name is Emmanuelle Sanguis Mustelidae. She's been attending one of the sister schools of Eton, you know the Muggle school?"

He nods. "Justin, that bloke in Hufflepuff, attended Eton before coming to Hogwarts, do you think he knows her?"

I startle at the revelation. "I'll have to ask," I mumble, my mouth suddenly dry.

Harry seems to take my explanations in stride and appears to have no recognition of the surnames. This is not surprising since Harry might as well be as Muggle as I am.

"But why faint, Hermione?"

"I haven't eaten all day, Harry," I reply sensibly, but am unable to meet his gaze. "I think it was the crowd, the hunger, and all the excitement. I also have to go wash now, to get the Slytherin stink off of me."

Harry snickers appreciatively, but quickly turns serious again.

"You really need to take better care of yourself, Hermione," he says, placing a hand on my cheek before turning to go, his thumb idly rubbing away what I can only guess to be an ink mark close to my upper lip. "I have class. I'll see you in the Common Room later. Maybe I can help you unravel the mystery of Miss Mustelidae." Harry is halfway down the corridor before he stops and turns to me, offering his lopsided grin and shouting, "Oh, and stay away from Malfoy. I don't like seeing him so close to you."

I wave Harry off and turn toward the darkened alcove.

* * *

"Heard your fill, Ferret?"

"How did you know I was here, Granger?" his tone cautiously curious as his black-clad figure emerges silently from the shadows. His platinum hair glows in the fading sunlight. He'd grown taller over the summer as well.

"I can recognize your annoying, leather-clad strut anywhere, Malfoy. You know, if you're going to be a minion of the_ dark lord_," I sneer at the ridiculous title and add smartly, "you'd best learn some stealth."

"And you'd best mind your manners," he warns. "You could get into serious trouble talking to the likes of me that way. You don't get to boss me around like you do the Boy Wonder and his sidekick the Weasel."

He takes a menacing step forward and I will myself not to flinch away. I raise my chin, my hand finding my wand in the pocket of my robes. "Besides, why is it that you are paying such close attention to me?"

His hands are at either side of my head, now, clearly a threatening stance, a feeling not too unlike the one I'd felt earlier with Harry. He's unnaturally close, too, his breath ruffles the tendrils of my hair. To lessen the effect of his spicy scent, I am breathing through clenched teeth, in contrast, he's breathing deeply though his nose. I find that _peculiar_.

"Self-defense, really." I'm proud my voice doesn't betray my rattled nerves. I shrug nonchalantly, using my other hand to hold tightly to the strap of my book bag. I stare at him defiantly, "How do you expect that I've managed to successfully stay away from your irritating person all these years? Besides, why do you keep getting in my way when I so clearly want you gone?"

I notice that though he is unnaturally close, he does keep himself propped as far away from me as his arms' length can keep him, yet still effectively trapping me between his body and the wall. His cologne is distracting, to be sure, but I keep my eyes riveted to his steely gaze to remind myself just who I'm dealing with.

"I want to know why you're lying to Potter," his tone menacing, the muscles at his jaw clenching.

"I'm not," I answer too quickly, my eyes darting away.

"You're brilliant at many things, Granger, but lying isn't one of them," he says this so acidly I nearly miss the compliment hidden within. "Why don't you just tell me what you're so worked up about, bookworm?"

"Why in Merlin's name would I do something like that, cockroach?" I flare at him, unsettled by his unusually soft use of the term I dislike my schoolmates using to describe me. "And, moreover, why in the hell should _you_ care?"

I watch something flicker in his gaze. He looks suddenly younger and tired. Terribly tired.

To my utter surprise there is no venom in his next words.

"Maybe I can help you."

I begin to scoff at the suggestion, just as he did to me when I offered my assistance with whatever it is that he is working on. But, just as I nearly release my haughty sniff, I quickly reel it back, realizing something of an advantage here.

_I'm not the brightest witch of my age for nothing._

After all, if there is one person who would know the answer to my question, it just might be this prat in front of me.

"Do you know if Mustelidae is a pureblood name?" I ask outright.

"I told you before, Granger, _no_. It's not," he very nearly spits this out in his irritation that I hadn't been paying attention before. "You weren't going to find her name in the genealogy book you had earlier. This Aiden person is a half-blood. So whoever sired _him_ is a Mudblood."

I try not to snarl at his use of the epithet because I know he says it to solidify the space between us again, rebuilding the wall that for a moment crumbled, if only microscopically. I can see the dare in his expression, egging me on to shout a hex at him, or haul off and hit him, again.

_Seems the pervert might even actually enjoy that! _

I shiver, slightly disturbed at the thought.

I want to keep him talking though, so I ignore it, _this_ time. He blinks, surprised that I do not charge at him. My heart beats a strong staccato in my chest. It's a wonder he doesn't hear it. He's _that_ close. I've had enough of being unnerved by his encroachment into my personal space. I quickly duck under his arm, taking him a little bit by surprise. His head whips around to keep me in his sights.

"How do you know so much, Malfoy?" I ask curiously, my stance offensive, ready to strike should he come nearer.

He shrugs, dropping his hands to his sides and picking up the book bag he'd dropped to the floor. "My father knows the pureblood family lines. The names are not as numerous as you'd think. They've been combed through for suitable pairings for me and I've been schooled to remember these names. My future depends on it, really. _Senguis_, by the way, sounds familiar, but not truly."

I cock my head at him.

"Why are you helping me, even though I haven't told you what this is about?" I inquire.

He looks utterly lost for a moment, but quickly regains his trademark sneer.

"I honestly, don't have the faintest, Granger," he replies. "Morbid curiosity about your _girlfriend_, maybe," he taunts, waiting for a reaction from me that doesn't come. He shrugs and is surprisingly honest at his next go around, "I'm bored. And it might be a bit of procrastination, I suppose. Seems something less tedious to occupy my time, though, you haven't yet agreed to my assistance. It simply seems your mystery is more solvable than mine."

We stare at each other in silence. I am of the suspicion that he hadn't meant to reveal that last bit to me. In the stillness, I contemplate asking him what puzzle he is meant to solve. He seemed almost approachable a moment ago. I open my mouth and something in the depths of his stormy expression shifts. Where there had been a flash of vulnerability, now lay outright defiance. He wants me to suggest an alliance with him so he can shoot me down again. He wants desperately to regain control of this… whatever _this_ is.

"So, are you lying to Potter?" his voice is silky, unexpected. I riot against what it does to my insides.

In a rush of angry denial and incensed at his snooty persistence, I take a bold step toward him.

"I told you already, NO! Malfoy. I am no-"

Suddenly, a familiar wand is at Malfoy's neck.

"Get away from her, you wanker," Ron, still in his Quidditch workout uniform, seethes at the blond. My red-headed best friend darts a quick look my way. Wand still trained on Malfoy, he pushes his body between me and the aforementioned wanker. "You alright, Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron," I reply, stifling a sigh. "I had it handled, but thanks all the same."

"Now look at what you've done, Weaselbee, you've just interrupted a lovely little discussion I was having with Granger about the benefits of stress relief and how that if the Grryfindorks aren't men enough to give her what she nee--"

I manage not to shake in fury as I shoot a hateful, warning glare at Malfoy. Ron's wandtip digs deeper into the Slytherin's windpipe.

At last silent, Malfoy slides his grey eyes over to meet Ron's icy blue stare. There is challenge there. Ignoring the threatening wand at his throat, Malfoy shifts his gaze, lewdly raking up and down my body, sending shivers up my spine. I am appalled at his gall and the unbidden response I have to his lascivious perusal. I also know he does it to irritate Ron. Then he drawls suggestively, "Well, perhaps we'll save it for another day, Granger. Besides, methinks the lady doth protest _too_ much. I suggest you consider my offer, bookworm, it will not be posed again." And with an exaggerated bow he exits, but not before shooting me a searing look indicating he won't be leaving this alone for the near future.

As soon as he is out of earshot, Ron turns towards me. He towers now. I feel rather than see his heated stare on me.

"Hermione?"

My name is an unmentionable question on my friend's lips.

"It's nothing like _that_, Ron!" I roll my eyes, reassuring him quickly, working to diffuse his notorious temper. "The prat is just saying those things to get a rise out of you."

"But, Hermione, the ferret looked at you like-"

I scoff to interrupt him.

"He's _Malfoy_, Ron!" I cry "Remember who I am to him? A filthy, dirty _Mudblood_, right? He would never dare look at me in _that_ way! He's just doing that to make you stark raving mad! Don't give him the pleasure… please!"

"Don't... don't talk about yourself like _that_, Hermione."

With a sigh of relief, I wonder at the power of words as I watch my Ron visibly cool down, nod at my sensibility, and at last find calm by grabbing me up into a hug.

I notice a couple of my female housemates pass us with snide looks directed just at me, among them, Lavender Brown.

"So what was he after then?"

''He needs to improve his marks in several of the courses that we share. He apparently needs tutoring," I smile wickedly at my white lie which leaves me with a viable excuse should I decide to temporarily take up Malfoy's aid. "He asked me about helping him with Arithmancy, and among other things, Binn's essay."

"Blimey, Hermione, but that isn't due until mid-term!"

"Well, it seems Malfoy is tired of being bested by a Muggle-borne. Seems he finally knows how to go about getting the scores he needs."

Ron raises a questioning eyebrow at me.

"Well, he has to come to the _source_ for assistance, of course, doesn't he? I will always be better academically than the Ferret and he knows it! That's why he was here asking me for my help. He even said I was brilliant at many things!" I announce, surprisingly giddy.

Ron studies me for a moment.

"He's up to something," he says suspiciously. "Why would he tell you that? And why in Merlin's name would Malfoy think you would agree to such a thing? All this time, he's been a downright git to you. It doesn't make any sense."

I'm not sure why it stings to hear Ron tear apart Malfoy's unintended compliment.

Though some might think that Ron can be quite thick, he really isn't... not truly. He notices that I pull away and quiet. He seems to understand without words what I need him to say to soothe my ruffled feathers.

"Hey, Hermione, maybe Malfoy isn't as daft as we think he is then," Ron jokes his apology. "At least he's coming to understand, just like the rest of us do, that you're bloody brilliant."

I smile wanly at Ron, noticing he doesn't say just _him_, before he pulls me back into a half-hug, his arm slung securely around my shoulders.

"No, Ron, Malfoy's not stupid," I agree quietly. _Unfortunately, not by a long shot._

"Speaking of helping out with assignments, Hermione…"

I roll my eyes at his less than graceful segue. "It's just that I've got this Potions essay due and I have to practice extra hard at the pitch for the upcoming game..."

I laugh lightly to to cover my irritation as his familiar plea hits my ears. I think about the interactions I've had today and am secretly appalled at just how many lies I've told in a manner of under fifteen minutes. I really am not fit for this cloak and dagger business. I silently moan at all the lies I'm going to have to manage now.

_

* * *

Meanwhile… Headmaster's Office  
POV: Leopold Mustelidae

* * *

_

"Professor Dumbledore, her name is, Hermione Granger," I say to the aged Hogwart's headmaster. I worry that with all the students under his care, Dumbeldore will not know of the girl I've come to speak to him about. He looks weaker than I'd remembered him while Aiden had been in attendance, but that had been more than 30 years prior, so it is expected, I suppose. I notice as he speaks that he keeps one hand hidden from my view."

"Mr. Mustelidae, I assure you that Miss Granger is quite safe, I've taken every precaution to keep her ignorant of her ancestry. She's in Gryffindor and is as far removed from the Slytherin house as possible."

"Please call me Leo, Headmaster" I say, respectfully, noticing the headmaster's uncharacteristic jumpiness.

"Then you must call me, Albus," he replies holding out a candy dish to me. I shake my head at his offering.

"Thank you, Albus. While I am curious at your comment and find myself just now alarmed that you seek to reassure me of her safety here at Hogwarts, I'm afraid, I am here more for answers than to ensure my estranged grandaugther's safety. I know within Hogwart's walls she is perfectly safe. Unless I should be more concerned?"

I notice the Headmaster shift imperceptibly, but he swiftly waves away my last comment. I continue.

"The reason I am here is to ascertain more facts about Miss Granger's ancestry. On her deathbed, my deceased wife told me that Miss Granger is our true granddaughter, but I am confused as to why she was switched to begin with, and now that she's found her way to Wizarding England - to this very school, why didn't she follow her father's footsteps into Ravenclaw House? And additionally, Albus, you've now added to my curiosity. I am even more concerned about why you find it imperative that she not have any involvement with the Slytherin House?"


	9. Upon My Oath

**Upon My Oath**

_

* * *

**Dumbledore's Offic****e  
POV: Severus Snape**

* * *

_

"Severus, it would seem we are going to have to enlist young Mister Malfoy in our efforts to further convince Voldemort that you remain steadfastly on his side."

"What have you heard, Albus? Has there been some indication that makes you believe Voldemort questions my loyalty?"

I stare at Dumbledore, who, after all these years together, I have come to trust with my life.

"Severus, you must address him as _The Dark Lord_, even in my presence. You _know_ this. If you should slip in his presence, we would lose you, and that would be… _disastrous_."

I nod my head, scowling. Yes, Tom Riddle, the self proclaimed_ Dark Lord, _the absolute bane of my pathetic existence. If I could kill him myself, I would.

"No, there has been no such suggestion," assures the craggy, elderly man in Hogwarts' highest office. "It is simply imperative that you are still a trusted servant in his eyes. I worry because it has recently come to my attention that your role must expand on the Light side. Not only will you have to keep a watchful eye on the younger Malfoy, but now Miss Granger as well," he turns to gauge my reaction.

I find I have none.

He continues, "While at Hogwarts, I will continue to watch over Harry."

I nod. To expect the headmaster to assume any lesser of a role in Potter's future would be... _unacceptable_.

"Severus, it is imperative that both Draco and Hermione are monitored and that a friendship, of sorts, develop between them. This is a crucial time in which they will both need protection from the Order. Even if such protection is unknown to Draco."

I scoff at the idea of this pureblooded Slytherin befriending this particular Muggleborn Gryffindor. Seems as impossible as...

I shake my head to clear it of unwanted memories.

_How he imagines these two particular students will warm toward one another is also simply beyond me._

"So, my dear Professor, perhaps you might have them work together on some sort of _task_, of which I am sure you are able to come up with." He waves his hands meaningfully.

I look admiringly into the Headmaster's knowing gaze.

"And, Severus, make it crystal clear to them both, particularly to Miss Granger, that if they wish to ever qualify for N.E.W.T.S. their cooperation is an absolute _requirement._"

"Yes," I say, steepling my fingers thoughtfully.

_Tricky bastard._

_How, devious._

"In any case, pairing them up would greatly assist in your ability to watch over the both of them," Dumbledore continues, "Mister Malfoy trusts no one outside of his mother. You may want to speak to Narcissa about what we've learned of Miss Granger. Perhaps when he finally goes to her for assistance, she will be prepared to speed along Draco's understanding of how pertinent a role Hermione plays in helping him reveal the answer to the prophecy given to him by Lucius. I trust she is still in your trusted council?"

I nod. Taking Narcissa into my confidence after having given my oath to protect her son had been a tremendous risk, but one that had already paid off in spades.

"Excuse me, but what prophecy are you speaking of, Albus?"

"Why the one revealing a certain secret weapon that could put an end to The Chosen One."

I whip my head around to catch his piercing stare. I try not to squirm under his scrutiny.

"You know of this prophecy?" I ask hollowly, knowing I had not informed him of it, even though it had been revealed to me by Lucius himself before he was carted off to Azkaban.

I send a questioning glance at the Hogwarts Headmaster.

"You have sworn to keep Harry safe, Albus," I glower. "Yet, you are asking me to help _The Dark Lord_," I sarcastically sneer the title, "further all of his plans to put an end to Potter."

He nods at me in agreement.

"I do not make my requests lightly, Severus. I _am_ keeping Harry secure. All that I've asked of you will also help to ensure his safety," he answers enigmatically.

I sigh. Under this wizard's guiding hand I am, unfortunately, all too used to being only partially informed while working as a spy for the Order.

"I am aware that Draco knows of the prophecy," I comment dryly. "Does your request also imply that Miss Grangers is also aware of its existence?"

"For Merlin's sake no, Severus! What good would come of that?" He chuckles at a joke only he seems to know the punchline to. "Miss Granger will learn of it, Severus, but from neither you nor me. _How_ she learns of it is of ultimate importance and we must ensure that the way is clear for such intimacies to occur."

_

* * *

**The next day...  
POV: Draco**

* * *

_

"Miss Granger, I'd like to speak to you after class," Professor Snape's greasy drawl is heard over the general bustle of teenaged wizards preparing themselves for a rather gruesome hour in D.A.D.A. subjected to Professor Snape's biting sarcasm.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are to stay, too."

Audible gasps punctuate the silence that now fills the room. I open my mouth to protest, but hear her squeak her discontent first.

"Have I done something wrong, Professor?"

"No, Miss Granger, but since you took it upon yourself to speak out of turn, you _just_ have. Ten points from Gryffindor!"

As she throws herself into her desk, I watch her attempt to cover an angry pout by using her curly locks as a curtain. At the sight of her poorly controlled temper tantrum, I promptly forget to ask Snape why I must be subjected to her unwanted presence any longer than absolutely necessary.

The class is interminably long.

At last, the two Gryffindor dimwits leave the room, casting a final look of sympathy at their bushy-haired friend. I sneer at them as they send me looks they consider threatening, but make me want to crow in laughter, rather than cower in fear.

I make no move to join Granger at the front of the room, so she comes to stand toward the back of the room as well, but far away from me. This suits me just fine. I turn to Snape who is descending upon the two of us, his robes billowing. The sight of him calling to my mind a huge bat in flight. He stops mid-way through the classroom and turns to look at Granger.

"Miss Granger, I've noticed your marks in my class are taking a nosedive this quarter."

I hear her make a terrible gasping noise as Snape continues, focusing his piercing black stare at me.

I gulp.

"And you, Mr. Malfoy are turning out to be a grave disappointment. Having been my top student in Potions last year, you are failing to meet even basic standards in the Defense Against Dark Arts. Considering your upbringing, I imagine your father would consider me remiss if I did not do something to immediately rectify your situation."

I wonder what reprimanding me in front of the likes of a Mudblood like Granger has anything to do with what my father might desire. I try to keep my snarl to a minimum. It wouldn't do to show my aversion for this man, since he has the power to keep me locked up in detention for the rest of the term. All the same I do not do well with public humiliation.

"Considering both of your rather stellar academic pasts, and now your regrettable downfall into the more than mundane marks of the hoi polloi, I took it upon myself to to discuss the matter with Professor Dumbledore. He has given me leave to assign the both of you an independent study task that if completed to my satisfaction, would bring both your scores up to meeting compulsory requirements, giving you enough credits to attempt the N.E.W.T.S. earlier than the rest of your peers."

I groan inwardly as I see the spark of interest gleam in Granger's eye.

"But, Professor," I begin.

Granger, however, cuts me off, casting me a look of absolute disdain.

"Professor Snape, may I work with Harry instead?"

_Wrong question, Mudblood_, I think to myself as I see a flare of anger flicker in Snape's black, icy stare. He quickly masks it.

"Miss Granger, this is an extra credit assignment specifically designed to aid _both_ you and Mr. Malfoy. It has been granted to you as a direct favor that I've requested of the Headmaster. If for whatever reason you feel you are unable to keep this from your little, undeserving _friends_, I suggest you tell me now and we will consider this offer of academic _honor_ null and void."

I watch her eyes go round at the prospect of having just been given the opportunity to grab hold of the equivalent of a bookworm's golden snitch only to have it ripped away because of her asinine request to be paired with the likes of bloody _Potter_. I can very nearly see the wheels turning in her head and wonder at the amount of danger Snape is bringing onto my family with this little stunt.

My heart pounds in my head.

We both interpret her silence as an acceptance of the secrecy for further intellectual glory.

She is Granger, after all, _and_ a Gryffindor, so Snape and I can both be reasonably content with her unqualified acceptance of the terms.

I sigh despondently.

"Do this," he continues in his frighteningly no nonsense manner, "and you will automatically qualify for early N.E.W.T.S. You, Miss Granger, have been the top of this class for the last four years and have also been in extremely close competition with Mr. Malfoy in Potions. Because of your regrettable and aggravating habit of being so academically inclined as to beat out even the best in my house, you have, in the past, propelled _him_," he slowly turns to stare at me again, "to try harder to best _you_. Part of this task requires that you work _together_. I expect it of BOTH of you."

He holds up a warning hand before either of us can voice a complaint.

"If you do not, I will, for the rest of the term, make you partners in my class and I will additionally hand you both lengthy detentions so I can personally see to your willing cooperation with one another in working to improve your dismal grades. Should you more than likely fail at the extra-curricular assignment that I have for you, neither of you will take the N.E.W.T.S. this school year, and I will personally see to it that you will have an even more difficult time attempting to qualify for them next term," his tone is ominous.

All color drains from Granger's face and I am shocked beyond belief that he would subject me to such torturous amounts of time with her when he knows I have so many other dire things to accomplish in very short order.

I try to catch his eye in an effort to silently plead my case with him, but he turns his back to me.

"You will both meet me in my office after classes tomorrow to learn of the task and take the Oath of Confidentiality, " he announces, his voice slick, like the product I sometimes use in my hair. "Speak of this to no one."

I nod my agreement.

He turns again to Granger to makes sure his message is clear, "Do you remember the Time-Turner, Miss Granger?"

I turn to her curiously.

_What is this?_

I watch her cheeks pink and see her nod.

"You are to to be as discreet about _this_ as you were about _that_. Until tomorrow. You are both dismissed."

Granger and I both make our move to leave. She is more swift to the classroom door. As soon as she stalks out and does her damnedest to slam the heavy wood in its frame, I turn back to look at Snape.

"Pardon, Professor, but why? And moreover, why _her_?"

I watch him calmly settle back into his seat at his desk. His greasy hair shades part of his face from my view. His beak-like nose protrudes, reminding me of a crow or a vulture. I turn my face away.

"Draco, you have been given a task by the Dark Lord. Your mother convinced me to keep watch over you and your safety. I even placed myself in an Unbreakable Vow with her. I am putting my life on the line to ensure you get the task done, and I am gambling that you will accomplish it. However, I feel I have left you without guidance for too long and have misplaced my trust in your ability to suitably fulfill The Dark Lord's request. You, Draco, have been dallying, and have been unable to complete even the simplest of repairs!"

I stare at him, wide-eyed.

_He'd been watching me?! How long?!_

"Why _her_, you ask?" he continues, taking in my shocked expression and giving me a smirk all his own. "I've chosen _her_ because in as much as it pains me to admit it, _Miss Granger _ is simply the brightest witch of her age. If there is _anyone_ who can cast a highly intricate and complicated _Reparo_! to fix say… _a magical cabinet,_ it will be the likes of her to do it."

It takes my lifetime's worth of practicing Malfoy self-control not to roar my displeasure and reign such violent emotion inside. How dare he consider me inept to complete such a task as the one I've been given! Further, he has the audacity to add such insult to injury as to have me work with a Mudblood to help me complete this Dark task?!

"Are you asking me to enlist _her_? To trust _her_ with the knowledge of my task for the… The Dark Lord?" I cry incredulously. "Professor, excuse me, but I think you've completely lost your senses! My family is at risk! My mother is now hosting the Dark Lord at the Manor, and she is living there with him _and_ my Aunt Bella who happens to be stark raving mad! What if Granger tells Potter, or Dumbledore or…."

His gaze remains unreadable, his posture unmoveable.

"Sir!" I assert, trying to shake his conviction that this is a good idea. "She's a Gryffindor. She helped form Dumbledore's Army. She tries to free house elves… and she… She's a _Mudblood_!"

I watch him grind his teeth and I feel, rather than hear him bite back a vicious reprimand. I wonder at that as I heedlessly continue my protestations. I know that I am skating on thin ice, so, I decide to switch tactics.

"If you think I need help, Professor," I say in my most sycophantic voice, "why don't _you_ help me?"

"I am helping you, Draco, in so much as I can," he explains as though speaking to a small child. "You know that The Dark Lord wants you to do this. I can not appear to be of direct assistance. I'm giving you aid through Miss Granger. The others at Malfoy Manor need not know of her involvement, but she will likely speed your discovery along on how to fix this cabinet. I will do what I can to ensure that your secret stays safe. Besides which, I know you have your ways, Draco. Miss Granger does not need to know of what we are to do with the end result."

I look at him helplessly. I have no concept of what he wants me to do now.

"She's a Gryffindor, boy! Use this knowledge to your advantage!" he bellows, "You are a Slytherin _and_ a Malfoy! Start acting like one!"

And with that, he waves his hand and I know I must leave his classroom.

I walk out quietly and see _her_ sitting on a window ledge, her eyes trained on the door from which I'd just emerged. Her shoes knock against the stone wall as she moves nervously, waiting for me to approach.

I try to pass her without acknowledging her existence.

"What did you find out?" she inquires.

"Nothing," I say on a huff, keeping my stride, hoping she'll understand I have no intention to stop and speak to her.

As I pass, I notice her jump off the ledge, knapsack banging into her side. She tries to catch up with me. I suppose it's from having blokes as her only friends, but she very nearly manages to meet my stride. I regrettably realize she doesn't seem to get as winded as the likes of Pansy or Millicent when they're in hot pursuit.

Before I find her beside me, I shut my eyes for a moment, stop, brace myself, and turn around.

She halts just as she is about to crash into me. I am surprised she'd shown even that much athleticism.

I let out a little sigh of relief that she hadn't touched me before I deign to look down at her.

"What do you want, Granger?" I try for my most malicious growl.

She sends me a look of purely aggravated annoyance.

"Well… seeing as you and… I…. we," she fumbles. "Well… I was thinking...since... we'll be..."

"Spit it out!" I shout at her just to watch her flush and end her ridiculous babbling.

"Never mind! Malfoy! _Ugh__!_"

She moves to pass me, but I block her. She tries again, but like before, she's thwarted. She seems to recall in the back of that gigantic brain of hers that I play Quidditch, just like her moronic friends, thus I can and will do as I like to keep her cornered.

"Shove off, Ferret!" she screams frustratedly, now back to being blazing mad.

_Good, because she does not wear sniveling well._

"Were you going to ask me a favor, then?" I inquire, changing my tone to keep her on guard. I've smoothened my voice to one I've used on other girls who'd garnered my attention.

She whips her head up to meet my gaze. Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

"Ask away, Granger," I drawl, "It appears as though I am completely at your disposal."

She looks at me as though she knows _exactly_ where she'd like to dispose of me. No other girl has ever had the audacity to treat me in such a disgraceful manner, and I suddenly realize that I find this utterly… _fascinating_.

I mentally laugh at her inability to form a witty comeback, but keep my facial features open should she decide to use some of that legendary Gryffindor courage. I know she's keeping her insults to herself because I believe I know what she is about to request.

"I haven't got all day, Granger. Out with it."

She startles as I begin to realize she'd been staring at my face for an extremely long time.

"Malfoy," she begins, her voice gathering strength as she continues, "I've decided to take you up on your proposal."

So much has occurred that I am slightly taken aback. My posture stiffens as I try to recall what she's speaking of.

_What had I proposed, again?_

"You said you could help me solve my puzzle and I'm thinking that you-" she stops, pursing her lips before continuing, "or your family, might be in possession of literature in your home library that might further aid in my endeavors."

"Ah, yes, the Muestilde mystery," I say, with my memory refreshed, I ease my stance.

"Well," she says looking back and forth down the corridor to ascertain our relative privacy. "I was wondering if you could help me figure out the whole _Senguis_ part, actually."

She had unwittingly approached me as she'd spoken, as though trying to convey to me a little secret.

I step back noticeably from her person and watch a line form between her brows.

I smirk at that.

"I'll see you in Snape's office tomorrow," I say assuredly, with a note of dismissal. It simply wouldn't do to provide her with a clear answer to her request.

_

* * *

**The day after that...  
POV: Hermione**

* * *

_

It is nothing short of bewildering, this sudden interest Professor Snape has for the maintenance of my academic excellence. I dare a glance at Malfoy beside me as we follow at Professor Snape's heels to wherever it is he's stashed our extra credit project.

As we walk, I consider my situation. I know I've been pouring over the mystery of my ancestry since returning to Hogwarts, so much so that I have failed to allow for my usual five-week lead time in completing my class assignments. I venture to think back to the rather daunting pile of texts and blank parchments on my desk in the dorm. Perhaps my lack of focus _has_ been enough to catch more than Professor McGonagall's notice, after all.

I think back to my boggart. While my ultimate fear may have altered slightly, I still shudder at the thought of how my House Mistress could very well visit me during my next Prefect's meeting to inform me that I'm to receive "T's" in all of my subjects.

I silence my worried cry by shoving my knuckles in my mouth and biting down. The gesture isn't lost on Malfoy who is staring at me speculatively. I quickly drop my hand to my side.

"Worried about being alone with me, Granger?" he murmurs, a dash of innuendo there if I care to pick up on it.

"Hardly, Malfoy" I snip, jerking my gaze away from him and back onto the sight of Professor Snape's billowing robes.

_He ought to seriously consider finding a tailor to tuck that material in a __bit_, I think randomly.

I finally begin to recognize where we're being taken. It's the Seventh Floor, a place I know quite well considering I'd spent much of last year here. We'd held our secret D.A. meetings in the Room of Requirement. It's where I first learned to conjure my Patronus. I wonder what secret space will be revealed this afternoon behind the tapestry of trolls learning to dance ballet.

I watch Professor Snape walk past the image of Barnabas the Barmy three times before the magical entryway appears. I hasten a glance at Malfoy who notices me watching him as we make our joint way through the door. I am unsure if the gleam of curiosity in his eye is real or a playact.

We follow Professor Snape into what he's calling The Room of Hidden Things. I gasp at the treasure trove of magical items left haphazardly in this space to collect dust. It reminds me of my grandmother's attic where I'd spent summers pawing through her trunks and playing dress up as a young girl. At the sound of my delighted exclamation I notice a slight upturn of Professor Snape's lips, seemingly pleased by my reaction.

"Yes, Granger, I can see how the likes of you would be duly impressed by the multitude of magical apparatus in one space," he lifts his arm and swings it languorously over his head, indicating the whole of the room.

I follow his movements and notice bookshelves filled with all manners of things. I find I am newly excited to learn what Malfoy and I will be doing to earn our extra credits. Perhaps it is cataloguing the contents of this room for the Headmaster! Such a task would be the perfect thing to move my thoughts away from something as Muggle as adoption. I can't imagine any wizards choosing to give their child up to live a life without magic in the Muggle world. Magical children are cherished in the Wizarding world, so as far as I know.

My musings have me forming an uncharacteristic pout which I see Malfoy mirroring as he watches me thinking about… well... whatever his evil, little Slytherin mind imagines I'm thinking about.

"What will you be having us do in here, Professor," I ask breathlessly.

"I have decided I will not tell you until you've taken the Oath of Confidentiality."

"What is the Oath of Confidentiality, Professor?" I wonder aloud.

I hear Malfoy huff his impatience.

"Honestly, Granger, I thought you were _well-read_."

I quirk my head at his platinum blond head, annoyed he has knowledge of something I clearly do not.

"Why don't we have Mr. Malfoy explain, then, Miss Granger."

I slit my gaze at Malfoy who has again adopted his usual annoying smirk as he clears his throat to begin. He takes the stance of a prince about to announce a royal edict as I try in vain to keep myself from rolling my eyes at his snootiness.

"The Oath of Confidentiality is a magical incantation in which two or more wizards make a vow to one another in the presence of one who is named the _Bonder_. If the persons who accept the conditions of the Oath of Confidentiality breaks the vows, they will suffer the consequences as deemed suitable by the _Bonder_. The spell requires the wizards who are making the oath to join their hands," at this I see the Ferret's smirk turn into a contemptuous sneer, "and the _Bonder_ places the tip of their wand onto their hands, upon which the _Bonder_ asks the oath-takers three separate terms of the vow. Each person entering the Oath will respond "I will".

"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy, fifteen points to Slytherin."

I try to smother the extreme annoyance I feel filling my body before it bursts forth onto my facial features.

"It's similar to the Unbreakable Vow, then?" I ask shrilly, my dread and concern mounting. "Is… is… this Dark magic, Sir?"

"Absolutely not, Miss Granger! This is standard operating procedure for confidential extra credit assignments offered to deserving students. Am I to believe you are daring to accuse the Headmaster of such nefarious things!"

I gasp, _I would never do such a thing! Did I just do that?!_

I don't know why I turn to look at Malfoy for assistance, but I do, and I catch him peering curiously at Professor Snape, casting him a look of dubiousness all his own.

"I've never heard of this Oath or these sort of things before," I protest meekly.

"Of course you haven't, Granger," Malfoy snorts mockingly, his grey eyes turning to me. "Hence, the Oath of _Confidentiality! _And to _think_ that wizards old and young consider _you_ the brightest witch of her age. _Bah_!"

"Look here, Malfoy-"

"Enough bickering!" Snape barks, curtailing yet another impassioned swipe at Malfoy's character from falling from my lips.

"Let's begin. Grasp hands."

I take a deep breath and attempt to talk myself into holding my hand out to the cockroach. I stare into his insolent face and decide immediately that I will not, under pain of death, offer my hand until he has presented his first. Several moments of uncomfortably thick silence tick by. Apparently, the Ferret has come to the very same conclusion as I have.

"I will not stand here all night to await a detente between the two of you!" shouts Professor Snape, who in my opinion has shown an unusual amount of tolerance for Malfoy's boorish behavior. "Mr. Malfoy, extend your hand this instant!"

I am slightly shocked that Professor Snape does not force _me_ to present my hand to Malfoy first. It seems he cares less about pleasing the bratty Malfoy heir than of me entering into this Oath of my own free will.

I watch Malfoy openly offer me a look of outright disgust as he reluctantly holds out his hand. I begin to reach mine out as well, but stop mid-way.

"Wait, Professor!" I say loudly, surprised that my voice has enough room to echo in such an item filled-room. I watch Malfoy retract his hand with an eye roll. "I was just wondering, Sir, what is the consequence should either one of us break the Oath?"

I look to Malfoy who now seems just as curious about the answer to my question. Professor Snape takes a moment to consider my inquiry. I cringe inside as I watch a particularly malevolent grin creep onto his face.

_Oh, no!_

"I'd initially thought that perhaps you would appreciate the sort of retribution you paid to the likes of those who betrayed your trust regarding your attempts at assembling students to learn unwarranted magic last year," he explains.

I let out a sigh of relief, a terrible case of word-revealing acne is something I can live with. Relief showers over me as I decide this. Malfoy, on the other hand, looks completely mortified.

"However…"

Apparently, my relief is short lived.

"In light of the current situation," his oily tone sends creepy crawly things up my spine, "I'd like the both of you to imagine the worst possible thing that you could ever do WITH the person you see before you. This thing that you are to imagine must be something that would cause you abject shame and humiliation."

_Merlin! That could be any number of things, like…_

_While in the Gryffindor stands I cheer loudly for Malfoy as he captures the snitch from Harry's hand and then bid him fly back around to me to throw me that very snitch, which I catch with a grin._

That's an awful thought! Ron and Harry would kill me!

_Holding hands with Malfoy down the corridor, giving him doe eyes, while wearing a Slytherin uniform! _

I shudder, my stomach convulses at the idea.

_Sitting at the Slytherin table, hugging myself to Malfoy because I want to be more than friends, telling him of my desire to see him smile a true smile, when all he's doing is trying to push me off._

Humiliation! I feel icy fingers of fear steal through my muscles as I think of the horror.

_Snogging him until I'm breathless and telling him how I am secretly enamored with him while he laughs uproariously in my face._

Unthinkable! I think I _actually do _vomit a little in my mouth by simply imagining this.

_Admitting to him that I sometimes, in my wildest imaginings, think of doing any number of these, among some other unmentionables, with him when I am lying alone in my bed at night trying desperately to convince myself that it's Ron, or even Harry, who I want to be with in the end._

I am paralyzed by the very idea of admitting something so shameful and vile to Malfoy. The fact that such a thought even enters my head has me thoroughly disgusted with myself!

_Oh, gawds! that would be it, then, the worst possible punishment for breaking this Oath!_

"OK, I've snatched the worst thought from each of your minds," Snape announces matter-of-factly.

Malfoy and I both expel outraged gasps.

_Merlin! Can he do that?!_ I know that he's a highly skilled Legilimens but my, _that_ was swift! I turn to Malfoy who looks just as disturbed as I feel.

Now, I don't know if Snape has actually done as he claims, or not, but even the slightest possibility that he has…

I fill my mouth up with air, holding my breath, trying to calm myself down.

I steal a glance at Malfoy, who looks as though he's going through some painful self-flagellation as well.

It appears that whatever _he_ thought about having to do with me is just as detestable as my idea of the worst possible punishment _EVER_.

Seems we both share an overactive imagination.

_I will keep this confidential,_ I vow to myself. _I have no other choice!_

"Now, join hands," Snape orders, eyeing the both of us threateningly as we continue to stubbornly remain motionless despite his command. "On the count of three, then. You _both_ count."

I watch a smirk form on the Ferret's lips as I return it. We both seem to be recalling that day in the library when I first explained what the Muggle saying meant.

_One-_

_Two-_

_Three-_

On three, our hands touch and that same spark and tingle of electricity, _magical_ energy, I think idily, shoots through me. Malfoy seems to feel it too.

Snape apparently recognizes _something_ unusual happening when our hands at last clasp since he raises an eyebrow and his mouth is slightly agape as he watches little silver and gold lights dance around our entwined hands. Pulling out of his trance, he finally moves to lightly touch the tip of his wand to the top of our joined hands.

"Will you Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy vow to cooperate and work together on the task that I am about to assign you?"

I meet Malfoy's silvery gaze as we both say at the same time, "I will."

"Will you, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy vow to keep the details of this assignment confidential from all but those standing in this room at this very minute?

"I will."

"Will you, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy vow to protect one another and keep each other from harm throughout this task?"

We both startle at the question, I feel his fingers fractionally loosen on mine, but I reach out to hold onto his more tightly. Malfoy's lips purse as I see a flash of fear in his eyes. I shoot a glance at Professor Snape who's giving us both threatening glares. I am slightly wary of making such a vow, but do imagine that if push came to shove I'd keep the promise regardless of my feelings for the prat anyway. I look to the Ferret who, seeing the determination in my gaze, at last offers me the scarcest of nods.

We both look to Snape and say, "I will."

My eyes widen, mesmerized, as I watch a thick cord of cool blue light wind around our linked hands. Malfoy and I seemed joined this way for hours, but it must have been only minutes when the light magically fades away and Professor Snape is placing his wand back into his robe.

"Alright then, follow me," he says, moving soundlessly further into the room.

Malfoy and I are still holding hands and we both seem to realize this at the very same moment. We both awkwardly snatch our fingers away from one another and quickly follow Snape into the maze of magical things.

* * *

_**Author's note:** Correction made in last chapter - _**_Justin Finch-Fletchley_**_ is a Muggle-born wizard who was sorted into _**_Hufflepuff_**_ house.. He was in the same year as Harry at Hogwarts. I relied on an inaccurate source that named Justin as a Ravenclaw. I fixed the last chapter to reflect this change._


	10. Mixed Feelings

**Mixed Feelings**

_

* * *

In The Room of Hidden Things  
POV: Hermione Granger_

* * *

"What is it, Professor?" I inquire, reaching out to examine the intricately carved wood of what looks to be a peculiarly shaped… outhouse, _maybe?_ It certainly seems large enough to hold a person inside of it.

"It's a Vanishing Cabinet, Miss Granger, broken during your first year by that wretched poltergeist, Peeves. I am still not quite sure _what_ he and Nearly Headless Nick had been doing in front of Filch's door _that_ night."

Since _I_ know what had happened that night, I look away, busily pretending to be especially enamored by a very beautiful tiara perched on the head of a statue of a rather unremarkable famous half-blood wizard. Professor Snape does not seem to notice my fidgeting since he continues his explanation without pause.

"In any case, Dumbledore would like this cabinet repaired and brought back to working order."

While obviously exceptionally well-made, upon closer inspection, the sides of the cabinet do look warped, likely from the several-story free fall it must have undergone in Peeves' over exuberance at doing something frightfully naughty to antagonize Filch.

"What does it do, Professor?" I say, trying to ignore Malfoy's sarcastic silently mouthed imitations of my questioning.

_What a child!_

"Whatever you place into it vanishes, of course, Miss Granger."

"Where do those things that disappear go?" I continue my inquiry as Malfoy perfects the art of the eye roll.

"This is the reason Professor Dumbledore would like this repaired," explains Professor Snape, surprisingly patient. "He would like to investigate exactly where things vanish off to. We're not exactly sure where the things in the cabinet go when they are vanished, Miss Granger," he stops to rub the top of his beak-like nose.

"Which brings me to another point. Since this is so, it is imperative that you and Mr. Malfoy conduct your trails only with _things_, and not attempt to vanish each other."

Snape slides his gaze towards the Ferret, and there is no question as to exactly whom he is speaking, "no matter how tempting the idea might be."

I think of all the television shows I'd seen of Muggle magicians who perform disappearing acts: David Copperfield, Harry Houdini, Hans Klok, Criss Angel, and David Blaine. I smile to myself. Considering Professor Snape's blood status and his having lived in the Muggle world as a child, I know that he will understand the colloquial reference I am about to use.

"You mean like _Abracadabra_?" I ask, thoroughly amused.

Malfoy's grey orbs go round in their sockets as he hears me utter the unfamiliar Muggle incantation. I'd wager that if he'd had any pigmentation at all in that colorless skin of his, it would have faded to white while his mouth began forming the gaping "O" that hangs open in front of me.

I laugh at his unanticipated expression.

Professor Snape, who'd just poked his nose into the black cavern of the cabinet, jumps back, obviously startled at my joyous sound. Then he slowly turns to look at me, his unibrow creased in the middle to form a great "V" of profound annoyance. Surprisingly, he does not look half as annoyed as Malfoy does.

_His_ death stare could shrivel up daisies.

"Be mindful of your annunciation and use of _that _Muggle word, Miss Granger," Snape scolds.

"But why, Professor?" I ask, genuinely perplexed.

"Because it sounds an awful lot like the Killing Curse, doesn't it, you bloody, daft bint," snarls Malfoy who'd just snapped out of his dumbfounded stupor.

"Mind your mouth, Mr. Malfoy!" shouts Snape.

The prat doesn't even have the decency to look even a little bit guilty over his inappropriate word choice.

"In any case, _children_, this is your task. You have open access to The Restricted Section of the library. Mdm. Pince is already aware of this and should give you minimal trouble."

I hear Malfoy's undisguised snort of doubt. I lift an eyebrow, but feel the giddy onset of a mental happy dance to celebrate the new power that's just been bestowed upon me… and, oh, yes, upon the filthy-mouthed cockroach, as well.

"I trust there is no need to remind either of you of the absolute need for discretion."

Again, my eyes go wide at the horrifying possibility of punishment and I shake my head, no!

Malfoy, too, has blanched.

No, absolutely no need for _that_ reminder!

"I'll leave you two to it, then." Professor Snape turns away to walk out of the room, leaving Malfoy and me to gawk at one another.

Not really knowing how to proceed, I take one darting glance at the Ferret and with some prejudice, immediately peg him the penultimate aristocrat unable to do the slightest thing for himself. With this thought, I realize we desperately require a plan.

"Library?" I say, not really meaning it as a question.

"Library," he asserts with a nod, and makes a motion for me to follow him.

I sigh.

_So much for chivalry,_ I think quietly, not bothering to wonder why I'd expected that sort of thing from the likes of Malfoy.

But as we gingerly make our way through the room, I can't help but notice all of the things that could possibly snag at me, or topple over onto me. Halfway through, I decide that in this case, I don't mind so much that Malfoy did not do the gentlemanly thing of insisting, ladies first.

* * *

**_Three Weeks Later  
POV: Draco Malfoy_**

* * *

I am spending far too much time with the Mudblood, I think, wallowing in self-disgust.

It is as if I am watching from above, seeing myself stupidly transfixed at the sight of her lids, with absurdly long lashes, flutter in their fight against sleep. I regret, yet again, my notice of the banking of the usual inquisitive fire in her chocolate brown eyes. Her glazed, faraway look convinces me that she's wont to give in to her tiredness, setting aside her need to quell her endless curiosity in favor of a short respite, despite my presence... or more disturbingly, perhaps because of it.

She wearily pushes the book she'd been reading across the table towards me.

There is something going on with Granger that appears to have escaped her self-centered friends' notice. I only realize this because I see the same signs in my stealthy examination of her as I do in the mirror when examining myself. The growing stress of my two extra-curricular tasks has, for me, resulted in insomnia and an absolute loss of appetite. _She_ hasn't been eating either, and looks as exhausted as I feel, which is rather disquieting. I wonder idily what is causing Granger's stress. It has to be more than just this assignment.

It bothers me to note the tiredness around her eyes and the slight downturn of her mouth as she murmurs something like, "Just a moment, Malfoy. I need to rest my eyes."

Even as I reach out to take the book from her, my own lips quirk at her now familiar empty promise. This must be close to the fifth time this has happened. It's happened so often that I know her _eye resting_ will result in her catching a bit of a cat nap while I continue our research en solo.

Once she's asleep my only distraction is her occasional quiet sigh or other sleepy sounds.

Through our working together, she's expressed some surprise at my nearly whine-free compliance at her insistence that I be present while she reads the references on the intricacies of magical repair. The reason I continue to follow her into the bowels of the library has everything to do with the fulfillment of the Dark Lord's request and not an iota to do with my growing curiosity in the bushy-haired know-it-all.

_At least this is what I try to convince myself of._

As I now gaze at the top of her head, cradled in her comfort of her arms, I come to the sudden realization that an unlikely truce has developed between us. Though we both seem to still thoroughly enjoy our near constant verbal sparring, the stinging bite of our barbs are no longer quite as sharp.

Though I would rather Moody hex me back into a ferret and bounce me around the schoolyard than admit it aloud, I discovered, two weeks ago, one reason I continue to allow myself to be bossed around by the likes of this Gryffindor bibliophile.

Each passing day of my father's incarceration brings to light the fickleness of my Slytherin brethren. I tire of having to keep up face for the members of my House. With my father now dethroned as The Dark Lord's right hand man, I, in turn, have also lost the entitlements previously endowed to me as the holder of the notorious, and coveted, title of Slytherin prince. It's exhausting to try to convince fellow Slytherins, much less myself, that my family hasn't lost valuable footing in The Dark Lord's perverse organizational pecking order. I hardly care, but it did keep my Slytherin housemates slightly wary and fearful of me without much effort on my part.

It has been a strange relief, then, to be able to sit quietly across this table from Granger who expects very little of me but for the endless witty bickering. Our quarreling is a near comfort compared to the dragon dung I have to deal with in my common room and house table in the Great Hall.

Also, I still am very curious about the photograph of the mystery squib girl in Granger's knapsack. We haven't spoken of her request of me to aid her in the exploration of the Senguis family name in the magical books my father keeps at the Manor. Though the subject remains undiscussed between us, I haven't forgotten. Without telling Granger anything, I sent an owl post to my mother requesting a particular book on magical family trees be mailed to me as soon as possible. I am still waiting. I worry what might be happening to her with Death Eaters making themselves comfortable in my ancestral home. It pains me to think of it. I hope I haven't caused my mum undue harm with my slightly unusual request. I did couch it under the guise of needing the text to help me complete Binn's essay on magical family trees. I dare to think that the book might also assist in helping me find out the answer to the riddle of the prophecy my father gave to me.

The final and perhaps most self-serving reason I remain at the bookworm's side is to keep a vigilant eye on her attempts to fix the blasted Vanishing Cabinet. Snape and I have worked out an agreement about testing the cabinet's effectiveness while Granger is in the Room of Hidden Things working on the cabinet with me. Snape decided that it would be best if he is the one at Borgin and Burkes to receive the items that do make it through during our fix-it experimentation period.

And so far it's worked.

Of the things that never made it through the first week, among them were scraps of parchment, and a quill. One thing that vanished but was never recovered, a red hair ribbon. Last week, we placed a teddy bear, which Granger denied up and down as being hers, into the cabinet. It was a little brown bear, with black button eyes, and a lopsided smile. She said she'd transfigured a small figurine of a frog in the room into the bear. But that didn't make a bit of sense, and I told her so. I still don't believe her. She is rubbish at lying.

In any case, we'd placed the brown teddy bear in the cabinet and it came back completely white with the previously lost red hair ribbon tied in a jaunty bow at its neck.

At the unexpected sight of the stuffed bear sitting in the vast darkness of the cabinet , Granger let out a delighted giggle that I hadn't expected from her. She'd reached out to touch the bear before I picked it up. Apparently my handling of it was too rough for the bookworm's comfort as she'd grabbed it out of my hold and hugged it to herself. Upon finishing her own examination of it, she danced a little jig at its transformation, cooing about how cute it was.

I'd sent her a disapproving frown. Then, she had the insolence to twitter at my outward dismay!

Her laughter, and the twinkle in her eye, usually reserved for those undeserving twits, Potty and Weasel, was suddenly, unexpectedly turned on me. It was particularly unnerving to want to respond to her beaming delight. For a split second, her flushed, smiling face, excited that the bear had been returned to us, transformed her in my eyes from the annoying braniac of the Golden Trio to just a girl, and a fairly attractive one at that.

On that day, I'd been thoroughly shaken by my untoward thoughts regarding the Gryffindor golden girl.

"Your excitement is premature, Granger. The ear is torn," I'd pointed out that afternoon, flinching back as she threatened to invade my space with her happy dance. She'd been spinning the albino bear in the air, her arms outstretched. I'd quickly stepped out of the way lest she violate my person with her enthusiastic celebratory cavorting.

"That's because you pulled it out by its ear, Malfoy. You're the one who ripped it!"

She'd then pushed her face into the plush toy's nose talking to it, "You poor itty bitty thing, that awful, big, mean Ferret, hurting the likes of cute little you!"

At that precise moment, I remember distinctly wondering if it was wrong of me to be jealous of a stuffed animal. Her long curls whipped past me as she waltzed away, her apricot scent lingering in the air for a moment. The sight and fragrance of her being so un-Granger-like was positively disturbing and I purposely pouted about it.

"Stop spoiling the moment," she admonished. "Mr. Bear came back! Though it might hurt your face to smile, Malfoy, just this once, please be happy." Then, she'd genuinely smiled at me as she thrust the bear into my face. At which point, I'd immediately scowled and grabbed it out of her hands.

"It's not even the right color, Granger," I'd grumbled, gripping the soft fuzzy body and flipping it upside down. "This is _not_ something to celebrate! Look at it! Its black eyes look grey and it's lost all its color. "

"So, therefore, that pitiful, baby bear that you are currently manhandling looks a lot like _you_!" she'd joked, "And dare I say, I hardly snarl at you anymore, or go around calling you inadequate! So of all people, you should understand what it's like to be grey and colorless! So, be nice, Malfoy!"

To my utter horror I found her teasing both amusing and charming as she continued looking up at me, eyes full of merriment. "Anyway, it came back, and with hardly a scratch, didn't it? We're getting so much closer to fixing this thing!"

"Indeed." I'd nodded my accord and unceremoniously threw the bear at her. I watched her fumble the catch as I effectively ended our repair session by slamming the cabinet door shut and stalking away from her.

I realized immediately that I was too out of sorts, that it would be a mistake to be alone with her in the downstairs stacks with only the bookshelves to keep us company.

She was unlike anything my father had warned me of about Mudbloods.

I'd long determined that neither her magic, nor her mind were inferior to my pureblooded talents. In fact, her mind was as sharp as a tack, bringing ideas to the cabinet repair that I would never have conjured up on my own. Imagine learning elf and goblin incantations!

She'd learned to speak both and used her knowledge so that we were finally able to have vanished items at last reappear. While I've been told that I am personally prone to hissy fits when things do not go my way, it has been hardly upsetting for me to witness the slow progression to full repair with Granger at my side. She rejoiced in the smallest of things.

For example, not one of the items we used as test objects was returned to us in its initial form. Yet, when there was any hint of return, intact or not, Granger was the picture of excited success, just barely containing herself to keep from... _gasp_... hugging me.

I learn later, from Snape, exactly how successful, or rather unsuccessful, our trails have been. He confirmed that the transformation of the object occurs somewhere between us and him, with another random thing happening to the vanished item in its travel between Borgin and Burkes to Hogwarts.

It had been all too easy to imagine it was Snape making all of the transformations on his side in the pawn shop.

I'd left Granger that night, lost in myself again, stewing about my need to complete my job for the Dark Lord. For the first time since receiving the task, I'd forgotten the stress of it. And all because of Granger. That evening, in the corridor outside of the Room of Requirement, I was extremely bothered by this fact.

How could she, a Mudblood, make me forget my allegiance to my family, even if it had been for only a moment? In my opinion, she'd reached high above herself in regard to me and had gotten far too used to walking at my side to the library.

I purposely caught her eye before turning to stride away, alone, toward my common room. I was rewarded with witnessing the befuddled, somewhat hurt look she sent me as I made my abrupt departure. As I rounded the corner, at the removal of her from my view, I felt a slight, unfamiliar pang in my chest.

It wasn't until much later in the week that I made the shocking realization that the pain was something akin to regret.

So, to punish her for behaving in a way so completely unbecoming of the Granger I love to hate, I'd made sure to be especially cruel to the Insufferable Know-It-All. For days after the bear incident, I made it a point to make fun of her looks, which was a bit difficult to pull off considering that her teeth are no longer overly large, and her bushy hair is, now, rather fetching - less rat's nest, more tantalizing headful of untamed curls.

I frown at the memory of having struggled to put some heat into the insults. She had been disappointingly unaffected by my less than impressive attempts at making her despise me.

Yesterday, I made the further troubling discovery that her blood is neither brown, nor dirty. She'd pricked herself on something sharp in the Room of Hidden Things and before she could bring her finger up to her mouth, I'd seen and been mesmerized by the dot of bright red blood on her fingertip.

"It's nothing, Malfoy," she'd mumbled her annoyance at the intense way I'd been staring at her bloodied finger. "Stop looking at me as though I'll drop dead any second."

I turned away quickly, but not without the bright red color dancing in my head.

_No, not dirtied at all._

Today, she runs up to me after Arithmancy, whispering excitedly about a new incantation she wants to try.

"I'll bring something sort of living this time," she says, looking up at me.

As I start to protest, she stares at me in a way that brings me up short. The midday sun is shining on her in a certain way that allows the light to bring out the color in her eyes. She's blushing with excitement. I have to shake my head to wipe the pretty image of her from my mind. She mistakes my movement for disagreement and scowls.

"It won't be an animal or anything, Malfoy, just alive, sort of," she says snippily. "I'm surprised you care about such things, at all!"

I don't bother asking what it is, or feigning moral outrage at her perception of my gross insensitivity. I just want her gone, away from my sight. Besides, Pansy is prancing this way, so I send a regal wave of dismissal at the bookworm, and smart girl that she is, takes one glance down the corridor, confirming the female Slytherin's approach.

"I'll see you later, Ferret," she whispers, waiting confirmation.

"In a bit, then, bookworm," I reply absently, determined to avoid Pansy as I head toward Snape's office, intent on letting him know we'll be testing the cabinet using something semi-alive later on today.

Thankfully Granger hurries off.

Later, I meet her in the corridor outside of the Great Hall so we can head toward the Room of Requirement together. All through the dinner hour, I'd taken notice that between the both of us, we'd barely drank a cup of pumpkin juice. Her plate was still as full as mine when she finally got up to leave. Glancing back into the Great Hall, I spied the Weasel leaning forward to check on her plate while her back was turned to him. He frowned, but did not insist she eat before leaving.

I don't know why I am upset at his inaction.

At her approach, I notice she holds something in her hand. As soon as we enter the magical room together, she lifts the item up to my eye-level so I can examine it.

"A flower."

"Yes, Malfoy, you're absolutely brilliant!" she replies, voice dripping with sarcasm.

I ignore her and go straight toward the cabinet.

"Put it in, then," I command, opening the door, grandly gesturing toward the inside with my other.

"A small thank you would be a kind thing to say, Malfoy," she scolds primly.

"When did I ever claim kindness, Mudblood?" I rejoin, with a scoff.

"Touchè," she replies, lips pursed. "How silly of me, thinking you might have grown a heart."

I watch as she carefully places the tiny white flower into the belly of the cabinet. She closes the door, whispering something to herself. She stops her muttering and finally nods at me to open the door.

Empty.

We look at one another and wait. After a few minutes, we look to one another again to confirm enough time has passed to try to summon the item back into the cabinet.

I watch her pluck a piece of parchment from her pocket. She makes some graceful hand and wrist flicks, waving her wand at the cabinet as she reads from her notes. Her hand dances to the sound of her hushed incantation.

_"Mutuo sero EGO operor non animadverto EGO peto unus quisnam mutuo is ex megive meus possessio sic permissum is exsisto!"_

I cast her a curious look, but say nothing. She nods and I pull at the door. It doesn't budge. I try again, placing my feet wider apart for leverage. Still the door is stuck.

"Granger! What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything the least bit scandalous, Malfoy. I just asked for my flower to be returned!" she cries, exasperated. "Here, let me try."

I let go of the handle and step aside.

At the touch of her fingertips on the handle, the door swing open, as though propelled by the sheer weight of the plethora of identical white flowers bursting forth like a wave onto our feet.

"Oh!" Granger squeals beside me. "Look at them, Malfoy! Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? And the scent…"

"...heavenly…" I softly complete her sentence, as I find myself gazing at her in the midst of the profusion of blossoms. It is very nearly the most ridiculous, yet most profoundly lovely sight I'd set eyes on in a very long time. As she looks in wonder at the flowers surrounding her, I feel a slight thawing in my chest. And this time, instead of anger, I meet these new feeling with more than just a little confusion, and a whole lot of trepidation.

"Is this Edelweiss, Granger?"

She looks up momentarily to catch my eye. I watch her nod, seeming to be quite surprised, and perplexed, that I possess the knowledge of posies. How can I not, considering flowers are my mother's favorite hobby.

"Fitting, then," I say, offering the tiniest of smiles to her.

She sends me a guarded, quizzical look, and a shy smile in return.

"Shall we label this a success, then, Malfoy?" she asks, clearing her throat awkwardly. "They're all quite perfect."

I look at her, at us, surrounded by a sea of white petals and it all suddenly seems so incredibly hilarious.

"Perhaps a little too much of a success, Granger," I say with a sincere laugh, obviously catching her off guard. As I continue my uncharacteristic chuckling, she shifts away slightly, frowning a bit and shaking her head at me. Perhaps she thinks I've gone completely nutters.

Her disconcert makes me laugh even more.

I finally quiet as I watch her gingerly touch the blossoms that surround her. I start casting _Scourgify_ spells to clean up. From her expression alone, it is clear Granger is sorry to see the flowers disappear. I make sure to capture a few in my hand to place in my knapsack before our tidying is done. While her back is turned I look at one of the flowers I still secretly cradle in my palm.

Clean and white…

Strong and bright…

the sight of Edelweiss means _daring and noble courage_.

So fitting because…

these would be the exact words I would use to describe…

_Granger_.

* * *

**_That Night In the Library Stacks...  
POV: Ron Weasley_**

* * *

Nearly a month ago, since that day Snape demanded Hermione and the Ferret remain after class, I've seen hardly a hair on my best friend's bushy brunette head.

Whatever Snape has them working on is absolute secret and the mere idea of her working so closely with Malfoy upsets Harry and me to no end.

Harry, having become disturbingly good at spying on Malfoy using the Marauder's Map, has been leaving his spying tool in my care during his lessons with Dumbledore. This allows me, on most night, to remain the faithful lookout.

So, after some grueling quidditch practices, post-bath, and after filling my stomach full of dinner, I go into spy mode.

I've even learned how to charm my hair, having learned a thing or two from my delinquent twin brothers. I've managed a rather becoming auburn, masking the siren of Weasley red that would give me away in a second.

For weeks now, it has been through a variation of my brothers' altered polyjuice potion, Disillusionment Charms, and the Invisibility Cloak that I've been able to keep silent watch over Hermione and Malfoy. Today has been no different from the rest of the times I've been on self-appointed watchdog duty to protect my female best friend from the likes of the Slytherin prince.

As in days past, I notice their eyes meet after having had enough time to push their food around their plates. Hermione barely touches dinner, Malfoy is the same. After they come to some silent agreement, she gets up, as does he, to disappear into what can only be the Room of Requirement. I gather this is so since both their names fall off the map after they disappear from the Great Hall.

Then, after what seems like an especially long time for those two to be together without hexing one another into the next magical century, they leave one after the other onto the seventh floor corridor, and head straight for the school library.

It's at this time that I usually sneak down into the shadowy quiet of the lower stacks to keep an eye on Hermione from a darkened corner of the lower library room. They seat themselves at a worktable in the back of the stacks area. I move to a nook under the staircase where I can secretly watch them behind the heavy cover of endless rows of bookshelves.

There are plenty of cubby holes into which I can fold myself into and actually get some reading done - never mind that my reading material is usually the latest copy of Wizard's Sports Illustrated. Since deciding to keep watch over Hermione, I'm getting the best marks in my classes than in all my previous years put together. I've even become quite skilled at the non-verbal Disillusionment Charm.

I usually stay in the library until one of two things happens. Either I see on the Marauder's Map that Harry leaves the Headmaster's Office, or the Ferret and Hermione leave the library.

Today, she is sleeping…again. Her head and arms rest on her stack of books and parchments. Malfoy is sitting across the table from her, sneaking her glances every so often when she makes a quiet sound in her sleep.

According to my own count, this is the fifth time this has happened, her falling asleep in the library... while with him, I mean.

I shudder to think how much time they've spent together and what they've been doing in the unplottable room to allow Hermione to be so comfortable with Malfoy that she can drop her guard enough to fall asleep in his presence. He has always stayed on the opposite side of the table, and has yet to touch her, or rifle through her things while she is in such a vulnerable position. All the same, I feel good to be near should he try something despicable like that.

I continue to take measure him, examining the git who I'd long considered an archenemy, especially since he began calling me a blood traitor early on.

I look at his lean frame and am surprised at what I discover. I don't know what's happening to him, but he looks twice as gaunt and exhausted as Hermione does.

While he still claims that snooty Malfoy air, it seems that when he believes he is not being watched, he looks very…

_What is it?_

Tortured.

Pathetic.

Empty.

Alone.

I worry again at the amount of secrecy surrounding Snape's assignment for these two.

Why do they both seem so wound up and tired?

Hermione swears up and down that while what Snape's having them do is really complicated, it is Dumbledore-sanctioned, and, therefore, must be pretty harmless.

Harry scoffs at her reasoning, it seems some of the adventures he's had with the Headmaster haven't exactly been a picnic in the park, but Harry's also not talking abouot the particulars of his solo lessons with Dumbledore with either Hermione or me.

Oddly, I do not feel left out of things, even though both of my best friends have been taken under the wings of one school teacher or another. I am quite pleased with myself, actually, standing on my own this year.

Prefect.

Quidditch Keeper.

My own man.

Thanks to Harry's little trick with the Felix Felicis, I know that I can make my own luck. It's amazing what a little mental clarity can do for a bloke.

And now others are noticing the change in me.

What had been an interesting result of this was the very wet and wild snog given to me by Lavender Brown, right in the middle of the Gryffindor common room during our victory party over the defeat of Slytherin.

I had been surprised by Hermione later that night when I found her crying on Harry's shoulder in a quiet corner of the castle. It was bad form for her to have launched those blasted canaries at me! But what was most upsetting was the hateful look Harry threw at me when Lavender, who'd been holding my hand, dragged me out of the room. I was just experimenting with Lavender, who seemed quite content with gathering my affections. Never had Hermione showed any interest before, anyway. By the morning, I'd attributed her bizarre behavior to female hormones, and I'd shrugged off her temper tantrum.

In any case, it was Harry's silent treatment that I was more concerned about.

It has been quite confusing - the lot of it.

So, despite this, a lot of people were noticing my new found popularity... nearly everyone _except_ my two best friends, who clearly have other things on their minds.

It's OK, though, I understand. I _always_ understand. They have things to do, mysteries to uncover.

Besides, it's nice to be known as just plain Ron Weasley, and not solely for my having that pitifully overlooked, and certainly lesser role in the Golden Trio.

Despite starting to growing up and slightly apart from Hermione and Harry, I still care for them very much. And like Harry, I have my strong suspicions that Hermione might not be fully informed about her Defense against the Dark Arts assignment, especially considering who is involved in it.

Harry continues to insist that Malfoy already sports the Dark Mark. I still doubt Harry, considering the un-Malfoyesque behavior I've recently witnessed. And Hermione is stubbornly insistent that Harry is overreacting. Though I agree with her about the Ferret, I still raise an eyebrow at the strength of her arguments in defending Malfoy. I also disagree with her naive assessment of Snape.

I know Hermione, and perhaps this knowledge makes me even more worried for her. She is ever trusting and awed by authority figures, no matter how greasy-looking. She will not ask important questions and will agree to all manners of things, especially if her scores are on the line. I am convinced, this is the very thing that Snape's got over on her to have her agreeing to complete this strange assignment with Malfoy.

I also know that Hermione can be a bossy little thing. If the Ferret appears even the least bit weak, she'll run him over, forcing him to do _whatever_, no matter how miserable the git might be to work with. Worse, she may not see the evil in front of her when working with Malfoy because of her over-confidence about being able to deal with him. She'd gained this high and mighty attitude back in Third Year, after slapping the Ferret silly and making him cry when she pulled her wand on him. She's more than convinced herself that she has Malfoy figured all out, that she'll know the exact moment he's lying to her.

But this time, I know better than Hermione. Draco Malfoy _is_ his father. He is a Malfoy, and their lot is a dirty sneaky bunch.

My thoughts bring me back to my examination of the Slytherin sitting several feet in front of me.

Hermione is across from him, still snoozing, her head in her arms, resting on her things.

All I see is the back of her robes, and the crown of her frizzy head.

Tonight, Malfoy has his foot kicked up on the chair beside him. I watch his elegant form bend slightly to pluck something rather dainty out of the knapsack that's set next to him. What he holds is white, and based solely on the way he gently pinches it between his fingers, it is also seemingly quite delicate.

He brings whatever it is up to his face to examine it, and then places it on the work table beside his quill. I am too far away to determine exactly what it is.

Curiosity has me bending over to peer through an opening in the bookshelf to watch what he is about to do.

My breath catches as he bends his torso over the table to stare intently at Hermione. My heart is pounding in my chest as I watch him approach my friend. Everything in my head is screaming at me to warn the Ferret off, but for once in my life I ignore the impulse.

He's been alone with her here for weeks, now, I reason with myself. If he was going to do something evil, he would have done it already!

Paralyzed, I watch his hand reach out to gently brush a loose tendril from the curve of her cheek. It is a move I sometimes find myself making when we're in the middle of our Common Room and she's in such a tizzy about whatever she's blathering on about that she hasn't noticed a strand of hair straying too close to her mouth.

I recognize his movement as one similar to the one I make, a rather intimate gesture of caring and close friendship.

My eyes widen in amazement as a soft smile graces the thin line of Malfoy's lips as he looks down at her. His eyes never leave the sight of her sleep-softened face. He is still for a moment, simply gazing at her. Then, he soundlessly moves back into his seat again to pack up his things.

This is the first night it seems they will not be leaving together.

I watch him carefully place the item he's taken from his knapsack on top of the pages of the book next to Hermione's nose. If she doesn't move her head in her sleep, it will be the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes.

Malfoy then bends to pick up his bag and turns to go. Before he steps out of the archway, however, I watch him point his wand toward Hermione.

My heart leaps to my throat, my muscles bunch as my body answers my instinct to jump up and block what I imagine is a hex he's about to place on her.

But before I can move from my hideyhole, I catch the sound of his incantation.

_"Wingardium Leviosa," _his hushed whisper is powerful.

I turn to see Hermione's quill hover just a hairsbreadth from her nose. With a twitch of his wand, Malfoy has the feather tip brushing softly against her face. As she wipes the sleep from her eye and reaches up to brush the quill away, I turn to look at Malfoy…

... but he is gone.

I turn back to Hermione who is just now noticing the item Malfoy placed in front of her.

I fall back in wonderment as I see how carefully she cradles in her hand what I now recognize as a small white blossom.

On her face is the happiest of smiles.

He'd left her…

_a flower._

It seems my heart stops beating for a moment as an impossible idea dawns on me.

Hermione...

and…

_Malfoy_?


	11. The Duty of a Death Eater's Son

**The Duty of a Death Eater's Son**

* * *

_**In the Great Hall..  
POV: Draco**_

* * *

It was a slight surprise to receive an owl this morning from Mother. I was one of the last at the Slytherin table, as well as, the last to receive a post. So, it was in relative privacy that I was able to open and read the note.

_My Dearest Son,_

_I'm told that your first Hogsmeade trip is this weekend. I will meet you at that ridiculous monstrosity of a tea shop, Madam Puddifoot's, before leaving you to your other interests. I have the book you requested and would like to discuss your progress at school. I look forward to seeing you, Draco._

_With warmest regards,_

_Mothe__r_

Mum obviously still remembers the makeup of Hogsmeade shoppes. I smile knowing she'd purposely chosen our meeting place with privacy in mind. After all, Madam Pudifoot's primary customers are those who have eyes only for each other.

The sweet tea offered there is generally too saccharin for my own tastes, but runs more along the lines of pleasing my mother's sweet tooth. I actually find myself genuinely looking forward to the visit with my mother. At the very least, it will serve to calm my growing concerns for her well-being. I fold up the note and tuck it into my shirt pocket.

I cast a stray glance over to the Gryffindor table where Granger is sitting with Potty and Weasel. The sight of The-Boy-Who-Will-Not-Die cozying up to Granger sets my teeth on edge.

* * *

_**Meanwhile...  
POV: Harry**_

* * *

"Hermione, you haven't been eating, what's wrong?"

"You worry too much, Harry. I eat a heartier lunch," she replies unconvincingly, pushing her porridge around her bowl with the back of her spoon.

Ron and I look at each other skeptically. My annoyance with Ron and his new interest in Lavender has waned since I still see him paying close attention to Hermione when she thinks he isn't looking. I sigh at the unfairness of the situation between the three of us, and look to the end of the table for some comfort. Ginny is there, offering me a sweet smile. I return her attention, if but half-heartedly.

I look back at Hermione who has clearly lost too much weight. Her eyes are too big in her face. The circles below them are too dark. And her cheekbones are far too visible.

I have been worried for weeks, but have kept silent. Now, I'm angry that she's keeping secrets, and she is absolute rubbish at lying.

_Someone_ should tell her so.

"Is it Malfoy?" I snap accusatorially. I spare a glance at the silvery blond who, to my chagrin, is already staring stoically at me.

"What, Harry?!" she very nearly shrieks, "No!"

I'm taken aback by her violent reaction, and can't help but see Ron avert his attention to the bowl of soggy cornflakes in front of him.

"I'm going to ask again, Hermione. What's going on? You don't talk to me anymore." I look at Ron and quickly amend my statement, "You don't talk to _us_ anymore!"

"That's ridiculous, Harry!" she sighs, exasperatedly. "I talk to you plenty. It's just my heavy class load and having to finish this wretched project with Malfoy. It's taking much longer than we anticipated. It's extremely complicated."

"So, are you this tired because that selfish git isn't pulling his weight?!" I charge. "Do you want me to talk to that blasted Death Eater about doing his fair share of work?"

"Harry, calm down," Ron warns, his eyes darting around the room as he bites into a spoonful of cereal. "If you haven't noticed, the Ferret looks just as bad off as she does."

"Why should I calm down, Ron? And since when have _you_ been Malfoy's hero?! Look at _her_. Whatever that wanker isn't doing to help her, is making Hermione run herself ragged. Aren't you the least bit concerned for our _friend_?"

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione interjects loudly, clearly insulted. "Why don't you announce my private business to the _entire_ student body? And just how awful do I look, exactly?! "

As Hermione's eyes narrow at us dangerously, Ron wisely tucks into his cornflakes without another word. I, in turn, put my hand on Hermione's shoulder to calm her.

She shudders, appearing as though she's trying valiantly not to cry.

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," she whines softly.

At the sound of her dismay, my heart bleeds a little. Then, I hear the unwarranted scraping of the foot of a bench dragging against the stone floor. It's coming from the general vicinity of the Slytherin table. I find myself forming a Malfoy-worthy sneer at the sound, and who I imagine might have been responsible for making it.

"Hermione, we're just worried, that's all," I croon apologetically, rubbing her upper arm and attempting to shake off my anger at Malfoy.

I am surprised to feel the weight of the Ferret's stare bore into my skull as I decide to continue the soothing movement of my hand against her back.

She huffs her response, but I am gratified to feel the tension in her muscles loosen beneath my palm.

"Malfoy and I share all the Sixth Year advanced classes, Harry, and believe it or not, we're actually helping one another."

It's my turn to snort my disbelief.

She shoots me a nervous glance as she continues, "And Snape's assignment is such a pain. Dra-… um… Malfoy and I need to complete it in order to begin taking our N.E.W.T.S. _this_ year, Harry. With all that's threatening to happen, you know how important _this_ is to me. If I have to work with Malfoy to get what I want, then so be it!"

It doesn't escape my notice that she'd very nearly called the Ferret by his first name.

I watch helplessly as I witness her wince against _something _that seems quite painful. She appears to be gripping onto the edge of the bench to keep from rising. I'd noticed this every time she starts to talk about Snape's D.A.D.A. extra credit assignment.

Each time she ventures toward the topic, it seems as though she has to physically anchor herself, forcing herself to keep her eyes focused firmly on her lap. It's almost as though she's afraid she'll launch herself at that slimy Slytherin bastard.

The idea of her having such a desire makes me want to punch Malfoy to a bloody pulp for having the simple audacity to be breathing while so many other good people have lost their lives due to his precious _Lord Voldemort_.

I take a calming breath and count to ten.

"Hermione, I don't like that you're hanging around the Ferret so much," I say, a familiar mantra of mine these last few weeks. "It's not _safe_ for you to be around him."

Ron clears his throat to grab my attention. His bright blue eyes warning me off as he shakes his head at me. I shake my head more vigorously back at him.

"It's schoolwork," she meekly repeats the answer she's offered before. "I've already explained this to you, Harry. Don't worry, I can handle it."

"It's OK, Hermione, we understand," Ron generously offers, reaching out a hand to cover her shaking one. "It's OK, do what you have to do." I push against the spurt of anger I feel as I watch his fingers touch the back of her hand.

I glare at my ginger-haired best friend.

_It is most certainly NOT OK, and I absolutely DO NOT understand_, I think bitterly.

But I say nothing, silenced by Ron's cautionary glare. I send him a look that hopefully relays to him that I'd like to talk in private, later.

"We'll have a nice time together in Hogsmeade this weekend," I say, forcing a cheery note in my voice as well as a change in subject. "Right, Hermione? Ron?"

They both turn their attention from their bowls to me... wary, the both of them.

"Just some good fun, that's all. Don't we deserve a break?" I ask innocently.

They both nod tentatively. Hermione's gaze then falls onto the book under my hand.

_Bugger_.

Her small smile quickly turns upside down at the Half-Blood Prince's Potions textbook.

"So, you're still cheating then, Harry?"

"Slughorn lent this to me, Hermione," I respond defensively. "I don't have another Potions textbook."

Ron remains silent, but throws a scowl at me, too.

"It's not like it's possessed, Hermione, Ron..."

"That _you_ know of," she counters with censure, as she grabs her things to go. "You see, I don't like _that_, Harry. Get rid of it. It's not safe for you to have around."

I bristle at her command, even though I'd made a somewhat similar demand of her just minutes ago..

"And if I say, no?"

Ron's thunderstruck gaze bounces back and forth between us. Hermione and I rarely ever row. This is the closest we've ever come to an all out spat.

"Well then, Harry, if you won't so much as listen to what I have to say about _that_ book, I do believe you have no right to ask me to stop studying with Malfoy," she condescends. "In any case, does Ginny even know that you've still got _that_?"

"What does Ginny have to do with any of this?" I ask furiously, incensed that for the umpteenth time Hermione has decided to choose working with Malfoy over my concern for her well-being.

"Well, why don't you ask Ginny how _she_ feels about strange, bewitched books, Harry!" And with _that_ snippy reply, she whirls around to leave.

"It's not bewitched!" I shout my retort to the back of her brown, curly-haired head.

With much aggravation, after my heated response echoes in the near empty hall, I helplessly watch as Malfoy follows Hermione out the door.

"What's not bewitched?" asks an altogether different witch.

I groan inwardly.

Ron sends me a pitying glance before hastily leaving the table.

Ginny.

_Bloody hell._

* * *

_**Hogsmeade Mdm. Puddifoot's  
POV: Narcissa Malfoy**_

* * *

"Draco, darling!" I exude a mother's unbound joy at welcoming my handsome son to the table, already laden with tea service for the both of us.

"Mother, you look lovely, as always" he says in warm, courteous greeting, leaning over to place a quick kiss against my cheek. "I'm glad to find you well," he continues with a charmings smile, sliding with debonair grace into the seat across from me.

I'd already done him the honor of ordering his preferred cup of Ceylon and Assam black tea.

With my hand, sliding from his shoulder against his side, I'm shocked to feel that under the cover of his weighty robes, there is an alarmingly increased thinness to his already slender form.

"You haven't been eating, Draco," I scold, pushing the tea sandwiches closer to him. "Nor sleeping well, by the looks of it."

"It's awful, mum," he admits shamefacedly, the dark circles under his eyes far more noticeable now. "My house mates seem bent on tormenting me, and I'd rather be awake to protect myself, than not. With father in… " he trails off, looking away, not meaning to upset me.

I place a hand over his forearm in a move to comfort. He looks so forlorn that I long to gather him up in a tight hug to ease his upset as I did when he was just a little boy. He gazes at me wearily.

"Darling, you have to sleep and eat to keep up your strength," I remind him softly.

I am pleased to see him nod in acquiescence.

_Such a good boy._

I silently promise myself to talk to Severus about finding Draco a safe place for some undisturbed rest.

I'm comforted to know that Severus is watching over my only son. I'm even more contented to know that he does have to abide by the promises he made in the Unbreakable Vow. Severus asked so little of me in return after I told him that there was nothing I wouldn't do to ensure Draco's protection from any and all harm.

That day of my visit, Severus had asked that I stay to discuss details, promising Bellatrix that he would escort me home. To my great relief, my very sick and twisted sister, cackled her way out by Floo to wreak havoc somewhere else, far away from me.

I'd sighed my thanks at his sending her away.

"Cissy," he'd said, using the nickname with intended affection, of which he'd previously shown me prior to Lucius' foolhardy decision to further involve himself with the likes of that vile half-blood, Tom Riddle, now self-procalimed, Lord Voldemort. "In return for my agreement to watch over my godson with my life, will you agree to assist me without question when I ask of it."

"Of course, Severus," I'd replied quickly, but with some concern. "Will what you ask of me bring harm to Draco?"

"No," he'd been just as swift in his answer, "But it may bring _you_ to harm. Despite knowing this, Narcissa, will you still agree to my requests?"

In that moment, I'd reflected on how much I love my son, knowing without a doubt I would do absolutely anything to keep Draco safe. With fierce determination and a grim smile, I'd nodded my assent to Severus' inquiry.

Meeting my son this afternoon to talk about wizarding families, seems hardly the sacrificial task I'd imagined, even expected, Severus to make of me. Yet here I am, in a place that is scarcely a danger to either Draco or myself.

I smile as I hand Draco the thin, wide book from Lucius' study.

"So, will you truly be using this for a class assignment," I ask teasingly, a half-smile on my lips, "Or are you finally taking your father seriously about starting your research for the name of a suitable bride?"

I am surprised to see a remote sadness in his eyes before I hear the unbecoming snort that my son releases at my mention of his expected pureblood marriage.

"Draco…" I begin Lucius' tired reprimand.

"I know what you and father expect of me, Mother," he snips, suddenly surly, the arrogance of his father shining through. "Dare not ask any more of me than I can presently give. I assure you, this book is for basic research purposes only - simply a tool to preserve the honour of the great Malfoy name. Nothing else."

"I ask nothing of you but your happiness and health, Draco," I reassure him in my calmest of tones, usually reserved to soothe Lucius' fiery temper. I am aghast at how obviously the tasks Draco has been sent to complete are causing him extreme and undue stress of both body and mind.

Long gone is my spoiled little boy who had nary a care in the world. While I don't necessarily mourn this passing, I am astonished by the stranger in front of me, a young man with a greater purpose than self-gratification. It is somewhat refreshing to know he's become a wizard of character despite his rather indulgent upbringing.

I am pleased to know that Lucius and I did _something_ right in the raising of our son.

"Are there any particular family names that you are especially interested in?" I ask, trying my best to keep my voice neutral, tinged only with a touch of slight maternal interest in his schoolwork. "Maybe I can help you, Draco. Would you like to learn how to use this book properly?"

He nods his head.

"I would like that very much, Mother."

"Well then, Sweetheart, I'll be happy to teach you. Let's make some room on the table."

* * *

_**At the table…  
POV: Draco**_

* * *

"This book works much like the Black Family Tree Tapestry," my mother explains, opening the book to reveal blank parchment, save for one line at the top of the page. "The difference is that it holds all of the family trees of all the Wizarding World. You've only but ask for the name, and the branches of the family's tree will appear."

"Will these also include the Mudbloods and squibs in each family?" I ask curiously.

Mother nods, her mouth tightening.

"Yes, Draco, but there are exceptions. Recall that this book's sole purpose for existing is to show families like ours other suitable pureblood families with which we can pair our children without mixing genetic strands."

I remain quiet, waiting for Mother to continue.

"While the Black family tapestry only shows bonds between those who are married, this book has the capability to display couples who produce magical children outside the bonds of marriage," she explains, tsking. "These pairings, however, do not immediately show themselves on family trees when a wizard or witch requests the legitimate lineage. The way to reveal such paramours requires prior knowledge of the exact name, or names, that one would like the book to display."

"A bit of a guessing game, then," I murmur so softly that Mother fails to hear.

"Is it enough to have a surname and not a first name?" I inquire more loudly.

"I'm not sure, Draco, I've never tried that."

"Interesting magic, this," I say thoughtfully, stroking the blank parchment with my hand that wears the ring of the Malfoy crest. "I imagine this is a practical safeguard. It simply wouldn't do to unnecessarily disclose unsavory information that would contain such shock value for unsuspecting family members, particularly such innocents as those who are using the book… solely for research purposes."

Mother stares at me, appearing somewhat shocked at my cynicism, but she continues on anyway.

"Should there be a more intricate tree beneath the two names of the illicit lovers and their magical child, pureblood or not, you must also know at least one other name in that illegitimate branch to unlock the next legitimate generation of purebloods in that line. Specific individual names of squibs and Mudbloods must be known for them to be displayed, as they do not automatically appear with the unlocking of the next generation."

"So, a bastard's spouse would fail to appear?" I ask for clarification.

"Remember the purpose of the book, Draco," she says, impatiently, wincing at my word choice. "Only purebloods marriages appear automatically. Half-bloods and Muggleborns appear only when formally espoused to a pureblood and only if you know specific names. Illicit affairs, pureblood or not, that produce offspring require knowledge of precise names."

"Adulterous affairs that produce _no_ children, pureblood, squib, or half-blood, would never appear, is that correct?"

"That is correct," mother says, taking a sip of her tea as she examines me. I know she is wondering about my curiosity.

"I want to be thorough for my essay for Binns," I explain lamely, slipping inelegantly back into my initial lie.

She nods at me, but the slight scowl at her lips tell me that she is aware of my fib.

"You never answered my question, Darling. Whose names will you be looking into?"

"Slytherin," I reply quickly.

"You might also want to try Gaunt," she suggests, daintily plucking a tea sandwich from a platter. "…and Sengue. My mother, your grandmother who attended Beauxbatons Academy, had a suspicion that there perhaps might have been more of a connection between the two families."

"Did Father look into this before he… ah…"

"…left?" she asks, smoothly finishing my bumbling sentence. "No, but he made sure that I would be able to suggest the names to you when you asked for them."

There was something about Mother's answer that made me think she wasn't being completely honest with me, but before I could question her, there was an audible gasp that went around the room and an all too familiar deranged cackle.

_Aunt Bellatrix._

"Oh, it's my ghastly sister," Mother frowns, looking worriedly at the mirroring scowl on my face. "Put the book away, Sweetheart, and mind your manners, Draco, your Aunt is coming this way. Pleasant face, Darling, remember."

I hurriedly stuff the book into my book bag, paste an affable expression on my face, and look up to greet my Aunt Bella, who is insulting each and every one of the young couples on her way toward our corner table.

"Well, surprise surprise, Cissy," she sing-songs in her high screeching voice. Her dark curls, now a cleverly disguised blonde, are a mess about her head, red lipstick is slashed across her thin lips. "Why didn't you invite me to this cozy tea to visit with my sweet nephew?"

"Aunt Bella, a pleasure as always," I manage to say sweetly, putting myself between her and my mother. I'm unnerved as she focuses her eyes, glamoured a startling green, on me. Despite the unfamiliar color, there is still a wild madness there. Too many years in Azkeban, I imagine. Her emerald orbs flash, seeming to be on the prowl for me to do something, _anything_, wrong so she will have the slightest excuse to hex me into oblivion.

Mother places a hand on mine, urging me to take my seat as the both of us fight for calm.

"Bella, I told you I would be visiting Draco. You know such things are rarity these days. So, why have you so rudely interrupted our time together?"

My aunt produces a small package from her cloak. She's holding it carefully in her gloved hand.

"Come, come, Cissy, don't be angry with me. I arrive bearing a gift for Draco," her attention leaves me for a moment as she casts a critical glance around the profusion of pink that surrounds us. "Shall we go and play with it at the Three Broomsticks while I buy him a drink more suitable for a young man?"

I sigh, powerless to decline.

"I think you'll enjoy my gift, dear nephew," Aunt Bella, delirious in her excitement, as the three of us make our way to the Three Broomsticks. "It will allow you to practice casting the Imperius, but keep you from having to intone the Killing Curse, which I doubt your pathetically soft little heart can do properly, anyway. It's a gift that will save your life, Draco!"

I am maddened by her insult, but clench my jaw and say nothing. As we walk I distance myself from my aunt. I wonder who she will be asking me to Imperius. I despise these dark magic lessons with her, but my overwhelming fear of retribution as doled out by the Dark Lord has me silently complying to her every despicable wish.

As we slide into an empty booth inside of the crowded pub, I duck my head, pulling my winter hat closer to my head, trying to remain inconspicuous. I am, after all, supposed to be serving detention with Professor McGonagall. Fortunately, I still instill fear in the young fourth years. I was able to convince one into being polyjuiced, having him drink a specially brewed three hour potion in return for a couple of galleons. On the face, it would appear I was doing my due diligence in performing my detention duties for the old bat.

"So, Draco, here is the plan," my aunt dramatically whispers in my ear. "Do you see Madame Rosmerta there?"

I nod, reluctantly. I like Mdm. Rosmerta, she always knows my favorites and indulges them. I try not to squirm in my discomfort.

"You will Imperius her, and then, you'll have Rosmerta tell that….," my heart pounds as I watch her crone-like, bony finger scan the room, at last settling on Granger, who is sitting next to Katie Bell. My head feels like it is going to explode.

"_that_ girl over there…Yes, that one next to Potter, to bring this package into the school building. Have Rosmerta tell the girl that the package is for Dumbledore. Do you understand, Draco?"

"Yes, Aunt Bella," I whisper dejectedly, a thunderous headache now pounding at my temples. I know this is a bad plan, that it involves Granger, and I do not wish to participate. I cannot look at Mother because I am ashamed that I cannot stand up to my freakish, maniacal witch of an aunt.

I rifle through my mental dossier of things I can do to protect others from Aunt Bellatrix's outrageous, and likely dangerous, scheme. I silently swear to myself that I will see that everyone unwittingly involved in this will be kept safe. I think back to the vow I made in the Room of Hidden Things.

_This_ is what Snape had wanted me to promise. This is why I'd balked and nearly let go of Granger's hand when he'd spoken the last requirement of the oath. All things relating to that damned Vanishing Cabinet, comes down to me walking _this_ treacherous line. Resisting my Aunt Bella is one of the most difficult things I've ever done. To do it agilely takes some acumen.

_She might be insane, but she isn't inane._

I look again at the innocent schoolmates who surround me. The sight of Granger, head thrown back in laughter furthers my determine that she will not be involved. I look instead to Katie, the headstrong Gryffindor Quidditch Chaser.

_Yes, she'll do, instead._

"Oh and once, your son is done with that, Cissy," aunt bella continues in her high-pitched voice, "you are to take on the Imperius of Rosmerta and have her brew up that special holiday mead for Draco to give to the great Hogwarts Headmaster." She laughs uproariously and I turn my face away from the people she's starting to attract with her hysterical chortling.

I turn to Mother and watch her nod her accord, also unwilling to go against Aunt Bella.

Aunt Bella looks to me expectantly and I reluctantly aim my wand toward Mdm. Rosmerta.

"Imperio!" I say quietly, but forcefully.

A full summer of working on wandless magic has me able to cast these sort of Unforgivables without shouting anymore. My aunt smiles her approval as she watches Rosmerta's suddenly relaxed form saunter over to our table. As per Aunt Bella's dictum, I quietly tell the landlady of the Three Broomsticks what we'd like her to do. As she moves toward Potter's table with the intent to speak to Katie Bell, I watch my aunt go to the loo with the package.

My mother notices the girl Mdm. Rosmerta picks out among those seated around Potty.

"Draco, that one isn't the girl your Aunt pointed to."

_My mother's keen eye will be the death of me yet, _I think wryly.

"I thought she was," I respond blithely, feigning ignorance. Again my mother's slight scowl informs me that I haven't become as adept as I'd like to be in masking the truth. I sip at my butterbeer before adding, "Honestly, Mother, does it really matter? What's one Gryffindor from the other?"

"I suppose it's such a small thing," she looks at me so appraisingly that I have to turn away. I know that her gaze focuses over my shoulder, falling on the sight of Granger between Potty and Weasel. "It shouldn't matter, Draco… especially if _she_ matters to you."

I refuse to respond to Mother's obvious baiting. My eyes trail after Katie, who is pushing her way through the crowd to get to the ladies' room.

"Please excuse me, Mother," I say, getting up to hopefully intercept the Gryffindor Chaser. "Let me find out what's keeping Aunt Bella."

I stealthily make my way to the archway that leads to the corridor, stopping short to halt Katie's progress.

"Move, Malfoy," she grinds out. "You're in my way."

"Temper, temper, Katie!" I tut, offering her one of my more underused, dashing smiles. "I'm just stopping by to wish you good luck on our game next week."

"The Gryffindors don't need luck, Malfoy, we've got talent," she sniffs, "Of which _your_ team is sorely lacking, hence your need to purchase all of your House's wins."

I stand affronted, at a complete loss as to why I'd initially wanted to keep this girl and her insulting mouth, safe from harm. I slide my gaze over to my mother, then over to rest on the back of Granger's head.

_Oh, yes, I remember, now._

This time, I silently shout the incantation in my head as I stare hard into Katie's dark eyes.

_Imperio!_

A feeling of tingling warmth flows from my mind, down the sinews and veins connecting my fingers to the wand in my pocket, almost as though I'd actually used it to cast the curse I'd just made. I carefully watch her transformation.

"Hello, again, Katie."

"Hello, Draco."

Gone is her previous animosity. It appears as though every worry has been erased from her head. Her slight smile seems to indicate that I've been successful in my wandless spell casting.

_Impressive, if I do say so myself._

"Katie, you'll be very careful when handling the package you're about to retrieve from the loo. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Draco."

"You must wear your gloves outside and please, Katie, don't touch the contents inside, unless you're wearing your gloves. Do you understand, Katie?"

"Yes, Draco."

"Don't let anyone else touch the package, except Headmaster Dumbledore, OK?"

"OK, Draco."

"Alright, off with you then," I say, catching sight of Aunt Bella removing herself from the ladies' room. I leave Katie to complete the business as I make my way back to Mother. Aunt Bella catches up with me as I near our table.

"Is it all done, then, Draco?" she hisses in my ear.

"Yes, Aunt Bella."

"Good boy," she coos, patting my cheek as I try not to flinch away. "I'll be taking your mother home, now. Enjoy the rest of your time in Hogsmeade, dear nephew."

"Yes, Aunt Bella."

"Oh, I nearly forgot, Cissy, did you have Rosmerta make our special Black holiday mead?"

"Yes, Bella." I notice my mother's tone is as deadpan as mine. She produces a bottle on the table, holding it out to me.

"Now, Draco, this is your insurance. If things do not go as planned with the package. _This_ will finish the job," Aunt Bella assures me. "You are not to give this directly to the Headmaster. Have the Potion's Professor give it to him."

I wonder if Aunt Bella knows that Snape no longer holds the post. I say nothing. The less time spent with her, the better off I'll be. I simply nod and hope she knows what she's talking about.

"Is that all you require of me, Aunt?"

"You saucy thing," she says reaching out to pat my cheek as I quickly remove myself from her touch. She's still quite pleased with herself, I notice. She turns to conjure a red bow on the bottle before she hands it to me. "Don't forget, Draco, only to be used if our first plan fails."

I nod, grabbing hold of the bottle's throat as the three of us leave the pub. I bid my aunt farewell and offer my mother another buss on her cheek.

"Take care of yourself, sweetheart," Mother whispers in my ear, squeezing my arm a bit before leaving me to go to the apparition point.

"Goodbye, Mum."

Head down against the cold and away from eyes that might recognize me, I make my solitary way over to Honeydukes to access the secret passage back to the third floor at Hogwarts. I am gripping the bottle Aunt Bellatrix handed me, hoping against hope that by the time I relieve that fourth year of my detention tasks, the situation with Dumbledore will have solved itself without me having to utter the Killing Curse…

problem vanished…

just like Granger's _abracadabra_.

* * *

**_Returning to Hogwarts…  
POV: Hermione Granger_**

* * *

Leanne's frantic screeching and Katie's howling scream punctuates the happy conversations of students making their way back to Hogwarts from town. Ron, Harry and I are the first to see Katie hanging in mid-air as though crucified on an invisible stake.

The sight of her is horrifying. The sound of her shrieks end as abruptly as they began. We watch powerless to assist as she falls headlong onto the ground, left to lie in a huddled heap. Lying beneath her, an open package producing a darkly beautiful necklace, black against the stark white of the newly fallen snow.

"Don't touch her! Don't touch anything! Any of you!" shouts Harry, taking immediate control of the situation. "I'll go get Hagrid!"

The time between Hagrid and Harry's return and our entrance back into the castle is a jumbled memory, an eternity of worried waiting. From witnessing Harry easily shrug on the role of hero again, to my seemingly inconsequential comforting of Leanne and keeping curious onlookers from nearing, and finally, to Ron watching over Katie, trying to ascertain if she was still alive without touching her - it's all been a terrifying mix of events, a deadly combination that brings the horrific reality of life outside of Hogwarts crashing down onto all of us.

_Voldemort and Death Eaters._

Before Harry rushed off to fetch Hagrid, I'd seen the determined look on his face. Harry's expression spoke volumes as to who exactly he thought was responsible for harming Katie.

_Sons of Death Eaters, who leave little flowers for Mudbloods they claim to despise..._

_can they truly be innocent of all this?_

I keep my thoughts to myself and watch as Professor McGonagall makes haste in meeting us at the castle entrance. She quickly directs all students back to their common rooms. She does all of this while informing Ron, Harry, and myself to stay put. The three of us look on as she has Mdm. Pomfrey and Hagrid escort Katie to St. Mungo's for examination and treatment. The necklace and its packaging are carefully bundled and vanished to the Headmaster's office.

All the while, Harry continues ranting at Ron and me about how he believes Malfoy is the culprit. I stay silent, unaware that both Harry and Ron are keeping close watch for my reaction at their unfounded accusations.

I distantly hear Harry making a formal complaint to Professor McGonagall regarding Malfoy and the necklace.

_Is Malfoy a Death Eater, after all?_

I'm shocked to find that the thought causes me a great deal of distress and sadness.

I've seen him laugh.

I've even seen him distraught when he thought I wasn't looking.

I've seen him... seem actually _human_.

I feel some satisfaction at hearing Prof. McGonagall instantly shoot down Harry's theory about Malfoy's involvement.

According to Professor McGonagal, Malfoy has been serving detention with her all afternoon.

_Well, this is an interesting bit of news._

As I cast a weary gaze across the scene starring an extremely frustrated Harry, a disapproving Professor McGonagall, and a perplexed Ron, I happen to look up. Two floors up to be exact, and I catch sight of a platinum blond head peering down at us.

Wearing all black, Malfoy looks deathly pale. His expression, haunted, as though caught between unbelievable horror and… could it be?

_Regret?_


	12. When a Serpent Smiles

**_On the Third Floor Landing  
POV: Draco Malfoy_**

* * *

_Katie's not dead! Thank Merlin! What happened anyway?! How could it have gone so wrong? I told her to wear her gloves and not to touch anything! Bloody Gryffindor! Can't even follow direct orders when under the Imperius!! _

I silently watch that giant oaf, Hagrid with Mdm. Pomfrey leave the area with an unconscious Katie Bell levitating between them. There are four people left below, the Head of Gryffindor House and the Golden Trio.

My eyes widen and I swallow the lump in my throat that forms as I witness Granger, and Weasley, of all people, move in and start to protest my innocence as soon as Potter opens his big fat mouth to file his official, and might I add, baseless, complaint against me to the Deputy Headmistress.

Professor McGonagall's voice echoes up to the third floor landing as she lays into Scarhead for accusing me of bringing on Katie's torture. I continue to scowl at the recent memory of Potty's annoying self-confidence when presenting his accusation.

There is a guilty warmth that steals over me as I spy Granger smiling behind her hand when Prof. McGonagall informs The-Boy-Who-Would-Do-Everyone-A-Great-Favor-By-Just-Dying-Already that I was with _her_ all afternoon - serving a much deserved detention.

_Although I wasn't…_

I try not to feel too terrible for tricking the old bat, but even my tried and true Malfoy compartmentalization of all feelings and emotions fails me when I dare another glance at Granger.

I feel the unfortunate, heavy weight of my lie in the deep recesses of my loose robe's pocket. Therein lies the bottle of mead that I still have yet to put in my trunk while I figure a way to get it to Slughorn to handover to Dumbledore.

If the necklace was _that_ deadly, I shudder to think what the special holiday spirit might contain.

I decide immediately that maybe I'll keep this particular bottle of mead hidden away in my quarters until I can think of a better plan to save myself the trouble of completing the Dark Lord's mission. It's no wonder I haven't had any sort of decent rest. My preoccupation has been spent on thinking up a solution that would keep me from having to cast the Killing Curse, while keeping my parents and myself from getting killed in the process.

I'm still leaning over the banister, peering down, when Granger unexpectedly sweeps her gaze up at me. For a long moment, we silently stare at one another.

Then, when I can stand her scrutiny no longer, I do the only thing I can think of.

I look down at her bushy head and nod, acknowledging that I've seen her.

Swiftly, I turn away.

* * *

**_Gryffindor Common Room  
POV: Harry Potter_**

* * *

"How can you two continue to defend _him_?" I shout at their backs as we make our way through the portrait hole and into our scarlet and gold common room. "Hermione, just because you spend a few hours a week with the Ferret doesn't automatically make him a decent human being! I understand your need to be compassionate to all unfortunate creatures, but befriending Malfoy is simply not acceptable, Hermione!"

"Harry, stop shouting. What is this _really_ about?" Ron asks, interrupting my now all too familiar tirade against my closest female friend and her continued defense of the Ferret. "We _all_ think Malfoy's a right git, but seriously, mate, you haven't got _any_ proof that he's what you think he is. Honestly, we've all grown tired of your ranting! You've been going on about this all year!"

"Accusing someone of having the Dark Mark and being a Death Eater _is_ really serious, Harry," Hermione chimes in, strengthened to have Ron on her side. "Even Ron knows that! You just can't go around calling Malfoy a Death Eater whenever you feel like it! It's like him calling me a Mudblood all the time. It's _insulting_."

I scoff at her comparison of the two terms and her consideration of something as non-existent as Malfoy's feelings.

"If either of you care enough to remember, that nasty piece of scum bashed my face in on the Hogwarts Express our first day back! Then, he left me there under the Invisibility Cloak to bleed to death!" I shout this reminder, absolutely affronted that my best friends have forgotten the vileness that is Draco Malfoy. "If it hadn't been for Tonks…. ugh!… Hermione, you're not making a bit of sense comparing the words Death Eater to Mudblood!"

My voice is growing louder and louder. I sense that my anger has helped clear the room of all the younger students. The remaining Sixth and Seventh Years stay put, eagerly entertained by the unusual sight of the three of us hollering at one another.

"Oh, right, Harry. And it isn't as though you hid yourself in _his_ compartment, going against all of our sensible urgings that you leave off," Hermione begins the sanctimonious argument I'd just been waiting for her to use. "Oh, _no_, not the great Harry Potter! You simply _had_ to put yourself in danger, knowing that he'd hex you if he found you. Which he _did_, because he's… _he's_ Malfoy!" She stops to take a breath. "If you haven't noticed, you're not little boys anymore, Harry! You _knew_ he'd retaliate, and fiercely! You'd have been just as enraged if the roles had been switched! So, don't go around claiming yourself the victim here! You know you'd have done the same to _him_ if he'd had the nerve to come and secretly spy on us in our compartment!"

I try to imagine what I'd do if Malfoy had spied on us as I'd done to him and his so-called friends. I don't like thinking that I would have punched and kicked him. I'm fairly convinced I wouldn't have. I do know, however, that I would have hexed him. Without a doubt, he would have been lying on the ground just as helpless as I had been.

I can't believe I'm even _thinking_ about what my traitorous best friend is suggesting!

"Hermione, you've been spending far too much time with Malfoy. I can't believe you're siding with _him_! I. DON'T. LIKE. IT!" I shout, completely exasperated, my face, red and mere inches from hers.

"Stop it! The both of you," roars Ron, grabbing Hermione's shoulders and pulling her away to his side while he pushes at my shoulder telling me wordlessly to keep my distance. "Hermione! Harry! Malfoy is not worth _this_! Stop fighting!!"

I turn to stomp over to the sofa. I can hear Hermione's ragged breathing. I choose not to heed Ron's exasperated request because I have one last thing to say.

"Hermione, I do believe that if Malfoy was known around these halls as a Death Eater, he'd rather enjoy the notoriety!" I yell, throwing myself on the couch, arms crossed, mouth turned down into a scowl. "I wonder if you wouldn't _fancy_ that!"

Ron makes an audible sound of distress, sobering me instantly. I hadn't realized how hateful and jealous I sounded, until I heard my accuastion with my own ears. Now, I've accomplished what I'd set out to do… lay it all out on the table and get her to deny that she fancied the ferret. As expected, Hermione is now flaming mad. Her eyes flash at me and I fear for a moment that she'll curse me for my audacity to suggest something as deceitful and vile as her wanting to be with that…. that… bigoted wanker.

"You know what, Harry?" she says, her voice so calm it's frightening. "I think the Half-Blood Prince's book_ is_ truly possessed! You are not acting at all like the good and decent human being I _know_ you are. Ever since you got your hands on that textbook, you've been obsessed with Malfoy. You're not the least bit objective when it comes to him. You're ordering me around as if you have some sort of right to, and you don't seem to be able to trust your two _best_ friends when we say that you _are wrong_!"

It seems like she's ready to turn and go, but she stalks even closer to me, pointing her index finger at my nose as though it were her wand. I thank my lucky stars she hasn't gone after it yet. She's glaring at me now, though her voice is still unnaturally calm. "I'd even bet that you _still_ haven't gotten rid of that stupid book, even though we've asked you millions of times since you cooked up your first successful potion!!"

Ron's eyebrows are raised. He does not back up her accusations, nor does he come to my defense.

I mentally remind myself that he and I still have to have a very important conversation.

Both of my friends are now looking at me accusatorially.

_I can't believe they've turned it all around and have made this whole argument __**my**__ fault! _

There are far too many people looking on to consider it remotely wise for us to continue. I try to calm myself down so that we can diffuse the situation before it gets any worse.

But, just as I'm about to push Hermione's finger out of my face and suggest we forget it, to simply agree to disagree about the whole business, the portrait hole bursts open. All I see is a whole lot of curly blonde hair and purple ribbons launching its way into Ron's arms.

"Oh, Won Won! I haven't seen you all day! I've missed you!"

I turn to look at Hermione who has averted her eyes at the whole disturbingly public display. I deepen my scowl even further to show my own dismay at Ron for aggravating Hermione _this_ way.

_At least I have a perfectly legitimate reason for upsetting her! _

Ron, to his credit, appears absolutely shellshocked at finding himself with an armful of girl. Lavender Brown, to be exact. He clearly had not been expecting her, nor did he seem to know what to do with her now that she was busy smothering him with kisses.

Hermione sends a disdainful glare at Ron, but it lasts for only a moment. Ron's returned gaze, meant for the both of us, is utterly repentant. While the look she sends to Ron is one of extreme disgust, the look that Hermione reserves for me is one of deep and profound disappointment… oh, and, yes, barely contained fury.

She clears her throat loudly before announcing that she's leaving.

"Well, I have an appointment to study with Malfoy. I was _going_ to ask one of you to go to Slughorn's Party… but clearly, _neither of_ _you_ would make an appropriate date, since I can't stand the sight of _either of you_ right now."

Lavender stops her tribute to the temple of Ron for a moment to stick her tongue out at Hermione. Ron sends us both a mouthed, "I'm sorry."

"Come to think of it, there are a number of other boys who I'd much rather go to the party with. I may just ask Zabini!"

I send her a look of absolute horror. _Zabini?! Merlin, was she stark raving mad?!_

"Or maybe, I'll ask Cormac. After all, he _was_ the one who caught me up in Ravenclaw Tower!"

Ron utters a gurgling gasp to protest the idea of her spending any sort of time with Cormac.

"Oh, that's right, it _wasn't_ McLaggen who caught me. Right, Harry?! It was _Malfoy_, the scary Death Eater! Maybe I'll ask him! Even spending that much time with the Ferret would be an improvement over having to be in the presence of the likes of you two!"

I jump up to exclaim my immediate outrage, but she throws me a murderous glance. I decide to keep my mouth shut for the time being since I'd noticed her fingers finally inching toward her wand.

I look away from her infuriated glare, complete with girlish foot stomp, and, instead, end up throwing daggers at Ron for not doing _something_ to stop Hermione from going through with her childish temper tantrum.

_Malfoy?! And here I thought the idea of her with Zabini or Cormac was utterly outrageous!!_

As I continue to fume, Ron is busy in the corner attempting to fend off Lavender to notice my look of disapproval. I frown my annoyance. I turn back to Hermione, but all I see is a corner of her robe and the back of her knapsack as she storms out of the portrait hole.

* * *

**_Room of Requirement  
POV: Hermione_**

* * *

Head down, shaking in fury, I make my way into the Room of Hidden Things where Malfoy is already waiting, sitting on a bench in front of the vanishing cabinet.

I try to hide my distress from the earlier argument by pasting on an intrepid smile, but Malfoy's not one to be easily fooled.

"Granger, you look like you've just been made to snog the giant squid."

_Great. Just my luck! Going from The Two Gits of the Year, to finding myself alone with The Biggest Git of all Time._

"Let's get on with it, Malfoy. You don't care about _my_ life, anyway."

He raises an eyebrow and says nothing. He turns to his knapsack, pulls something out, and hands it to me.

"Well, maybe this will wipe that horrendously gruesome look off your face,"' he pauses, cocking his head at me. "You are aware, Granger, that wearing such a dour expression severely detracts from what precious little you currently have to work with?"

I narrow my eyes at him for the insult and reach out to snatch at his offering. He pulls the item out of my reach, until I sigh an irritated, "Please," and hold my hand out, waiting impatiently for him to at last decide to bestow it upon me.

"You should watch that sneer, as well, Malfoy. It says loads about your character, which leaves a lot to be desired, and it also serves to highlight the pointy angles of _your_ offensive face," I say offhandedly as I regard what he's given me. It's thin and wide. It looks much like the panoramic Muggle scrapbooks my mother has been enamored with putting together lately.

"Be nice, Granger. You'll soon realize how ungrateful you're being once I tell you what _that_ is."

"Malfoy, it's a book."

"Why, yes, Granger, it _is_ a book," he remarks snidely. "Now, aren't _you_ the fabulously brilliant one today?"

"Ha. Ha. Malfoy. What am I supposed to do with it?" I wonder aloud, turning it over in my hands. I run my fingers over the cover and against the spine, in search of an apparently non-existent title.

"My mother sent it from the Manor," he says with a shrug. "I thought you might find it useful in your …_ ah_… research. You requested my assistance, if I'm not mistaken."

I stare at him, stunned that he'd even remembered that day when I'd slinked away, having felt extremely moronic for having lowered myself to grovel for his help.

"But, how will _this_ help?" I ask, opening the book up only to find about 10 blank sheets of parchment.

"Magic," he says, a twinkle in his silvery grey eyes and a small, teasing smile playing at his lips.

I send him a wry look.

"Care to show me?"

"Of course, Granger, if you'll allow me."

Malfoy holds his hands out and I return the book to him. He is holding his wand and is looking at me, an open invitation on his face for me to sit beside him as we explore the book together.

I hesitate for a moment.

Ever watchful, Malfoy notices my reticence.

"I assure you, Granger," he says testily, gesturing toward the empty space on the bench beside him, "It is much more a sacrifice for _me,_ than it is for _you_."

I narrow my eyes in displeasure at his remark and obnoxious sneer. My curiosity, however, gets the better of me as he opens the book's cover. I gather my robes closer to me as I take a seat next to him, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, all the while looking down at the blank page.

I take note of a barely visible line at the top of the page. I watch him tap it four times with his wandtip and say,

_"I deeply desire to see…  
one particular family tree."_

My eyes widen at the slow appearance of a drawn tree with many branches slowly emerge. It looks very much like the background of the tapestry hanging at Grimmauld Place.

"Book of Wizarding Family Trees, show me the lineage of Salazar Slytherin, please," requests Malfoy politely, tapping the top branch of the tree.

On the line at the top of the page, the name, Slytherin, gradually appears, showing the most intricate swoops and swirls, as though being written by a practiced hand using a special calligraphy quill. The magic in this book reminds me of whatever enchantments were involved in making the Marauder's Map. The words first appear in black, but before my eyes, turn a sparkling gold.

I snap my face up to stare questioningly at Malfoy.

"I believe there is some sort of color coding," he explains quietly, answering my question before I can ask it. "Pureblood surnames show themselves in gold after about a half a minute of setting itself in black."

I arch my eyebrow in interest, running my finger against the golden lettering.

_Amazing!_

I follow the tree trunk up to where Salazar Slytherin and a woman's name, also gold, but unknown to me, rests on top. I trace the trunk down to the next level of branches. Names appear in pairs, joined by a single leaf that has offshoots twining into the last and first letters, conjoining the couple's names written in gold, their magical children's names are on the branch below theirs.

_It's all quite breathtakingly beautiful._

"Malfoy, they're all pureblood! This isn't going to help. You said yourself that the name I'm looking for isn't pureblood," I say, disappointed. The parchment continues to lengthen, touching my lap now, a physical barrier between Malfoy and me.

"That we _know_ of, Granger," his voice holds barely contained excitement, a tone I am unused to hearing from the boy beside me. "Besides, we can manipulate the information to meet our needs."

"What do you mean, Malfoy?"

"Mother says that this book has the capability of showing us the family trees of all sorts of families, not just pureblood. As long as we know the precise names of those who are Muggleborn or half-bloods, this book will show us those who are married and have magical children."

My heart stops for a second.

"What if a pureblood marries a half-blood, or a Muggle, and has a child that isn't magical? Will those names show up? Because you know, _that_ happens sometimes."

"Unfortunately, yes, I do," Malfoy says with a critical eye, but thankfully does not elucidate. "Non-magical people, attached to magical ones show up as long as we know their exact names and have a working wand. Muggle and squib do show, particularly if they are registered with the Ministry. Though we can make their names appear, they do not show automatically at the revealing of the tree. They also don't show a different color. They will remain black."

I want to ask how he knows this, but figure he'll be showing me shortly.

In any case, he seems more intrigued by the family tree that continues to unfold between us. The page of parchment, previously contained within the cover of the book, rolls on for what seems like maybe four meters. I stand up to clear the way on the floor so we can stretch out the magical parchment and see the whole of it.

Salazar Slytherin seems rather prolific.

With an academically greedy gaze, I follow the pairs of golden names upon golden names. Each couple's names is intertwined with a tiny golden leaf that holds the names together. Occasionally, there's a small snake wrapped around the front of a male's name, or the end of a female's name. The miniscule snake seems a rare decorative mark, whereas the tiny golden leaf that is curled to join the names of spouses is far more common. It's all quite beautiful, actually, that is until the end…

Head tipped, I ponder over a peculiarly shaped branch on the tree, one close to the bottom, where there lies two golden names of siblings. One has a leaf, but lies alone. The other has a snake wrapped around the first letter.

"You see these two names?" Malfoy points at the very ones I'd been curious about. "Interesting, yes? They are Morfin and Merope, and appear to be the end of the direct pureblood Slytherin line."

I nod, wondering where he's going with this.

"Well, not really Granger," his tone is one of self-importance. "Take a look at some things I learned from the book we'd been fighting over in the library."

I watch him touch the little leaf clinging to the artful swoop of the "M" in Merope's name as he says a name I would never in a million years have thought to suggest.

"Riddle, Thomas Sr."

My heart pounds as I realize what Malfoy is showing me.

I watch the name of Thomas Riddle Sr. appear, written again by an invisible talented hand next to that of Merope's. I emit a strangled gasp.

"Surprise, Granger," he murmurs, well pleased at my shock.

I see that the name is written in black and stays black.

I look to Malfoy.

"A Muggle or a squib, then?" I say, now understanding the color coding.

"Muggle," he nods. "l looked it up. No pureblood or half-bloods in _that_ family prior to him marrying into the Gaunts. Rich as Creosus, though, and born of what Muggles consider noble blood."

I knit my eyebrows in confusion at Malfoy's acknowledgement that there might even possibly be such a thing as _noble _Muggle blood.

But then it hits me at last.

"Tom Riddle Jr., _Voldemort_, orphan, persecutor of Muggles and Muggleborns everywhere, is a _half-blood_?" I whisper incredulously.

"It appears so," Malfoy intones gravely. "That vindictive psychopath has fooled every pureblooded wizard and witch who's ever believed in and followed Him. No one knows about his ancestry, _except_ me, because I bothered to dig it up… and well, now, _you_ know, too."

His words rattle against my steadfast belief in the limited role this awful boy plays in my life. Here he is, this pureblooded, bigoted prat, railing against the evil being who'd catalyzed the very horrid ideas Malfoy _still_ uses to make my time at Hogwarts difficult when he and his ilk are nearby. He'd targeted me all these years simply because of the kind of blood that runs through my veins. I silently watch his torment at sharing this secret with me.

I don't know what to do as he reaches toward his inevitable, but longtime-in-coming, epiphany that blood doesn't matter.

It's crystal clear that attempting to hold my breath until Malfoy realizes his bigoted ways is clearly suicidal.

So, instead, I decide to take some of this time to closely peruse the parchment. Malfoy, in the meantime, continues to mutter angrily to himself.

I notice the "r" in "Sr." has a little winding offshoot that now is part of the lone leaf that had been clinging to Merope's name. Between the couple's name, the leaf now points downward, as though attached to an invisible branch. Another invisible generation beneath this couple's name… _obviously_.

Malfoy leaves no question as to the name that will inevitably show itself beneath the couple. His mouth is curled into a snarl as he touches his wand to the leaf.

"Riddle, Thomas Jr."

A branch attaches itself to the leaf joining the two parental names and beneath, centered between them, the flourish of a T begins to form. I put my wand to it, watching the rage build in Malfoy's face with each new swoop and swirl that appears on the parchment.

"_Confuto__!_" I incant. My quick and rather shoddy spellwork magically halts the name in mid-formation. For whatever reason, I know that Malfoy seeing it fully unfurl would not be a good thing.

_What's the point, besides? We already know who we'll uncover._

"I don't need to see it. I believe you, Malfoy," I rush my explanation for stopping the writing, saying words I never dreamed of using with this particular boy.

He blinks at me. "What?" His pewter colored eyes seem to take measure of me as he apparently has to take a moment to fully comprehend my pronouncement, too.

"Don't make me say it again," I moan. I thrill to see the anger evaporate from his face, but am troubled to see what settles there instead. He shrugs.

"If you'd let it fully form, I think you'd see that it would have turned silver, Granger," he claims without his usual bravado. "That's my guess, anyway. I haven't wanted to look at the full name either. But I imagine your reasons for not wanting to see the completed tree are far different than mine."

"Not so different," I reply quietly, turning to look into his face, my eyes widening at the serious expression gracing his features which… _I realize suddenly_… would be quite striking had it not been for ever present severe scowl.

The silence between us is deafening.

"Why do you want to share this with me, Malfoy?" I wonder aloud. "Why show _me_?!"

"Obviously, I can't share this secret with a Slytherin, Granger. But, even I have to bring light to the absolute hypocrisy of it all! I was sitting here waiting for you and I thought it would be rather ironic to reveal it all to _you._ I found it oddly amusing at the time. Besides, I had to tell someone, even if that _someone _is…_ you_," he says with what sounds like severely pent up frustration. "Feel free to eviscerate me now for my ignorant parentage."

"I wouldn't do that, Malfoy," I say, irked at him for thinking so little of me. "Don't assume I'd treat you as a Slytherin would. I'm not _you_."

I look to him expectantly, waiting for him to slide into our comfortable belittling banter.

"Sodding Gryffindor," he mutters. His long, elegant fingers comb through his hair as he brings himself to standing. The back part of his hair sticks up. I find myself mortified that I want to reach out and smooth down the cowlick.

Malfoy seems clearly agitated that he can't stop his show of feeling in my presence. It's no wonder, since it's as though he's lost all control over what is coming out of his mouth. He's talking, rather, ranting, and not looking at me.

"My _father_… Granger… if he knew he'd gone to Azkeban for a _half-blood_… A. HALF. BLOOD! Merlin!… All of Riddle's followers, ignorant fools, the blasted lot of them!… Putting their lives on the line for some half baked ideology!"

I don't know what to do about Malfoy's sudden show of feeling and unexpected cursing of Voldemort, _his dark lord_. I find myself wanting to reach out to him in sympathy, but instinctively know that Malfoy will not take kindly to such comfort from the likes of me. So, I do nothing, unable to look at him as he unintelligibly rages on about his family, secret missions, the Dark Mark, Malfoy Manor, their future, and his lack of one.

I give up trying to follow his outraged tirade and simply watch him pace the length of parchment, reminding me of a caged panther, suddenly shaking in his need to restrain the anger he's showing, trying in vain to stem the flood of words pouring from his lips. He seems to finally realize himself which causes him more distress, apparently losing it in front of me is not something allowable in Malfoy's little world.

I put on my most placid expressions. I am not fearful, just perplexed, because for once, this fury, emanating from his every pores, is not aimed at me. And I realize I feel much as I do when Harry has one of his breakdowns and I am the only one there to comfort him.

Except, this is _not_ Harry. And I am stunned to find myself desirous to know what comfort means to Malfoy.

As his back is turned, I work to recover from my own shock at his secret sharing, even though I'd only understood a fraction of it, it seemed the dam burst was a longtime coming. I don't wish to examine why a warm feeling of satisfaction steals over me knowing it was me he'd opened up to.

After a few minutes, when I've just about composed myself, Malfoy comes to sit beside me. I can smell that same, newly familiar cologne and feel the strands of my hair flutter at his intake and outtake of breath. It is this wayward movement that makes me notice how closely on the floor he and I are situated.

At the dawning realization, I immediately scuttle over to the other side of the parchment. He looks on, seemingly confused at my response to his disturbing nearness. I watch him warily. He might have shown a different side tonight, but it wasn't a compassionate or kind side. And I am not fool enough to think that one night of soul baring might change the fact that he is an insufferable, intolerant prick. I wait and busy myself with inspecting the parchment more closely as I try to sort through my confused feelings regarding Malfoy and his cathartic outburst.

I find I am unable to seriously process how I feel while he's in the same room, so I move the discussion to more solid, sterile ground.

"Look here, Malfoy," I say loudly so as to cover my discomfort. Pointing with my wand, I direct him to look at the single names on the tree's branches. "Why do you suppose these names have little snakes attached to them? Do you think they work the same as the little leaves?"

He peers at me. I watch as he turns his gaze to the parchment, reaching out to touch a little snake that's coiled around the "M" in Marvolo's name. There is no leaf that's attached to it.

"That's quite a theory, Granger," he replies with some admiration, his anger at last dissipating in favor of more mystery solving. "I suppose I'm so used to seeing snakes as decorations it hasn't occurred to me that they might have another use."

He touches his wand to the four snakes on the parchment.

"Granger, I'd forgotten to mention to you that my mother says this book can show the parentage of a magical child even if his…"

"or her," I interject.

"… or her…" he adds reluctantly, "parents are not married. So, maybe the snake means that wizard or witch had an illicit affair that produced a magical child."

I sit, cross-legged with my hand in my chin staring at the bottom branch.

"I wonder who had Marvolo Gaunt's two children?" I continue as I reach my hand out, placing it close to Malfoy's, to touch the bottom branches.

"Let's just say they didn't have _this_ book when they thought about _him… _procreating," Malfoy responds, making a face filled with disgust. Confused by his tone, I look at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking to trigger this look of profound repulsion.

He moves his finger again to touch another little snake curled around Morfin's name. I hear Malfoy make a small sound that might have indicated surprise.

"Mother said, in order to show unmarried couples who had children, you must provide the paramour's specific name, pureblood or not, unless already revealed as a pureblood in the _same_ family," Malfoy's voice seems shakier, as though he can't decide between being excited or shocked at sight of the tiny serpent beneath his hand. I try to process his words. It bothers me that his finger still hasn't left the snake that's attached to Morfin's name.

I crinkle my brow. It must take a lot of effort to ensure blood purity, I think to myself. Though I might disagree with the reasoning, I consider it very inventive of such families to go to such magical lengths. I look down to study the parchment again.

"If there is a child made of that forbidden couple," he continues in a pre-occupied half-whisper to himself, "only a pureblood child will show up at the uncovering of the lover's name."

"I wonder why Marvolo's children appear under his name, even though we haven't uncovered who the mother is?" I ask, trying to follow Malfoy's line of thinking.

"I think, Granger, we already have." Malfoy's hand sweeps to the many female names on the same generational tier as Marvolo's. Right next to his branch, another branch has just grown, revealing the name of a female first cousin. I see now that the little snake that had its tail curled around the decorative "M" in Marvolo's name has grown much longer, connecting itself to this recently revealed witch's name. A small branch is reaching out beneath it to claim both Merope and Morfin.

_Oh gods! _A shudder runs through me at the sight of it.

I look to the rest of the parchment and see that two more snakes have uncurled to reach out and capture other names fully formed on the page. The sight of it is quite vomit-inducing.

_Incest_.

I suppose that explains Malfoy's previous facial expression. I cast him a twin look of utter disgust.

"And you _Purebloods_ have the nerve to call _us_, Mudbloods, loathsome and vile?" I mutter spitefully.

He looks at me thoughtfully without answering. When I receive no snide rejoinder from him, I look to the parchment again.

I really don't want to think about _who_ exactly gave birth to Merope and Morfin. The idea of first cousins being that…intimate…set my stomach churning. I look away, stopping a moment to think.

"Malfoy, what if the resulting child of an illicit affair is _not_ a Pureblood? For example, if you already know the child's name and one of the parents, can you make the name appear without the other parent's name?"

"Individual names of half-bloods, squibs and Mu-ggleborns must be known for them to be displayed. That's according to Mother. She didn't know if both first name and surname had to be used to uncover names. She also didn't say if children's names had to be attached to _both_ parents names. And before you ask," he looks narrowly at my mouth which is already beginning to form the word, _why_.

"Don't you ever give it a rest, Granger?" He smirks and continues, "In any case, non-pureblood names don't automatically appear because this book was created for the sole purpose of researching the eligibility of pureblood families for arranged marriage."

It is my turn to contemplate _him_. Malfoy's parents must have already been deciding on _his_ marriage for him if they were in possession of this book. I don't know why I'm shocked. I stare into his face, one of aristocratic elegance, despite the dark circles that indicate he still isn't sleeping well. I wonder if he feels so bound by duty that he'd never even think he could have a marriage that is a love match.

Did he even know love at all?

Then something else occurs to me.

"What about adoptions?" I ask, trying to appear simply curious, but not overly so.

"What?"

"Uh… like in Harry's case, or Neville's… or…" I realize that I am at a complete loss. I can't think of another magical child, or _any_ child, being adopted into a magical family. Except for one obvious exception that I wasn't about to share.

"I've never heard of _that_, Granger. I suppose we could try it... if you have someone particular in mind."

I shake my head vigorously, hoping for once that his sharp senses don't catch onto my ultimate fear that he'll discover the secret I've been successful at hiding so far this year.

"_No_! No… I was just curious, that's all," I say in such a rush that Malfoy sends me a mystified sideways glance. I turn away and continue talking before he calls me on my lack of artful deception.

"It would seem, then, Malfoy," I say while on my knees, touching the various snakes scattered among the vast family tree, "if you were seeking the identity and heritage of families that are pureblood, knowing more names would make it vastly easier to unlock the next generation of legitimate purebloods that come from an encounter that is out of the bounds of marriage."

I stop my thinking aloud to acknowledge his silent nod of agreement. Now I understand his vast knowledge of Pureblood surnames. I also notice his finger still rests on Morfin's name. The snake here is still tightly coiled around the name. Malfoy appears to be in deep thought about something.

This _is_ fantastically clever, isn't it?" I state wondrously, my voice managing to snap him out of whatever trance he'd fallen into.

He shifts his head to look at me, mouth slightly agape.

"What, Malfoy?" I say with a wary smile.

"Granger, I never thought I'd live to see the day _you'd_ call something like _this _book, _clever_."

He shakes his head.

"You don't make a bit of sense, Granger. This book is all about families maintaining blood purity and you're _praising_ it. I'd have thought you'd want to burn it, or something like that."

I smile ruefully, realizing this is the second time tonight someone's said I don't make a bit of sense. I stare at him before addressing his comment.

"Well, Malfoy, I may be a _Mudblood_, but when I see something like _this_, I have to call it what it is."

"And what is that?" he asks truly curious, a little surprised at the way I'd taken the abusive word and made it my own.

"_Magic_," I say mimicking his teasing tone from earlier and purposely send him the grin he'd only hinted at. "Bloody, _brilliant_ magic, Malfoy!"

He gazes at me, taking in my delighted excitement over the discovery of the awesome magical capacity of the book.

I watch his lips begin to twitch in what I can only guess is amusement.

"Besides, Malfoy," I sniff, eyeing him coyly. "I'm the infamous Gryffindor bookworm, aren't I? The idea of me burning a book?! Perish the thought! No matter how vile, I would never incinerate _a book_! Perhaps, however, I would have no qualms about tying _you_ to a stake and setting you aflame. But a book? _Never_!"

My smile has grown impossibly wider as I watch Malfoy fight the urge to laugh at my self-deprecation. To my merriment, I discover that my playful tone makes it a fight he eventually loses. A bemused chortle escapes him and I watch in amazement at the sudden transformation of Malfoy's usually sullen face to one that is breathtakingly handsome.

My overactive imagination chooses this moment to imagine him tied to a pole, swearing colorfully while dancing atop a pile of smouldering logs. The visualization has me smothering a shriek of laughter.

He notices my amusement and playfully wiggles his eyebrows. With a suggestive smirk he adds, "Come to think of it, Granger, you tying me up would definitely be _hot_."

His randy interpretation of my earlier words upsets my equilibrium, but not necessarily in a _bad_ way. His comical, flirtatious tone draws a nervous giggle out of me and pulls color into my cheeks.

It occurs to me that despite having males as best friends, no boy's ever engaged me in this sort of frisky banter before and it's surprisingly empowering to be thought of as an attractive girl.

"Someone should lock you up and throw you the key for that mouth of yours, Malfoy," my nerves cause the slip of tongue in my less than smooth retort. I'd been attempting smart, but sounded more coquettish.

Now it's Malfoy's turn for mirth at my unexpectedly positive, but tongue-twisted response.

"Can't say I wouldn't mind _that_," Malfoy's booming laugh catches me off-guard with its deep, rich sound. "Having my own prison key would be most helpful, Granger, especially if _you_ were the one tossing it."

For the very first time, in the six years of complete and utter loathing for this boy, I find myself, not incensed at his guile, but tickled by his response to my joking. The sight of Malfoy losing himself to genuine laughter causes my heart to stutter. His unabashed grin now mirrors mine. I'm astonished by my undeniable need to join him in his joviality.

Our eyes lock as I'm trying to smother another giggle at his ludicrous suggestion, but what has me at last expelling the bottled up snigger is the insanity of my unintended jest. He makes a face at me as he tries to hold in another chortle, but it ends up bursting out of him through an indelicate snort. This sends me into gales of laughter with him readily joining in.

The unlikelihood of Malfoy and me laughing uproariously over something so silly, makes me hoot even harder at the impossibility of this moment coming to cosmic fruition.

We each attempt gasping speech, but fall back into our cacophony. By the time I finally accept this strange reality, he and I are bowed over, clutching at our sides, crowing and cackling in a hilarious duet over our outlandish behavior. Not at any one point does it escape my awareness that just minutes ago, Malfoy and I would have been unanimously voted the two least likely in our class to share something as precious and wonderful as a whole-hearted, belly-aching laugh.

By the end of our gleeful outburst, we're each lying down, face up to the ceiling, holding our middles with wands in hand, trying desperately to catch our breath. The parchment lies between us. Malfoy reaches out and drunkenly waves his wand over the parchment toward me, trying to draw my attention to what he's attempting to say as he fights against chuckles in favor of much needed breath.

"So, Granger," he manages, as our stress relieving chortles peter out. "Are you ready to find out what we can about Sengue?"

"Sengue?" I ask, trying to sit up. "No, Malfoy, not Sengue. It's Senguis, remember?"

"Oh, right," he says, at last pulling himself up, accidentally jabbing his wand into the parchment in the process. "_Sengue_ was the name I remembered that sounded the same as your squib's name."

I don't look at him, correct him, or anything. It's better for him to think this of Emmanuelle. He fails to notice my discomfort because he uses this moment to look down at his wand, now resting on the parchment. I watch his face go from relaxed joy to one of absolute shock at whatever he is reading on the page.

I scramble to sitting in order to see what he sees.

Beneath his wand tip, which happened to land on the snake that was wrapped around Morfin's name, the name of another was just then being drawn in black ink…

We both watch, holding our breath.

The name that appears is…

_Miranda Sengue. _

I hear Malfoy make a strangled gasp as we both watch the black ink turn golden and a new branch weave its way down below the two names now joined by a slender coiled snake.

Fascinated, I witness another name form in black and magically turn to gleaming gold at the end of the branch… The new pureblood name that reveals itself leaves _me_ gasping at the sight of it.

_Catherine Senguis neè Sengue_

And I can't help but notice that a pretty little golden leaf clings tightly to the "C" in her name.


	13. Things Heard While Asleep

**_Things Heard While Asleep_**

_

* * *

**Still in the Room of Requirement  
POV: Draco Malfoy**_

* * *

I move my wand to the leaf wrapped around the C in Catherine's name, but before I can utter the surname, Muestilde, Granger's hand knocks my wand off its target.

"Granger! Wha-"

She holds up her hand to stop my complaint.

"Enough for now, Malfoy. The information will keep. It's been a long night. I honestly don't think I can handle anymore. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather stop for now."

Perplexed, I stare at her. Her mystery, one so powerful she'd thrown caution to the wind to ask _me_ for assistance, is even more intriguing, since it's so obviously intertwined with the one my father is having me unravel. I promise myself to look into it once she's gone.

As I watch her get up to pace, I see how thin the Gryffindor Know-It-All has become. Our recent, raucous merriment put some color into her cheeks. But, each time she eyes the new name that's formed on the parchment she pales. Her reaction is so alarming that I fear she might faint dead away again.

"Are you alright, Granger? You look a bit green around the gills."

She looks at me and nods once. Her lips are set in a familiar firm line. I am reminded that she came into the room in a right snit before I'd shown her the book.

Not being in any hurry to return to the coldness of my common room. The icy freeze in the lair I'd once held court in, has precious little to do with the fact that the Slytherin dorms are located down in the castle dungeons, and all to do with my father's current place of residence. So with no real place to go, I let my curiosity about _this_ girl and the secluded nature of the magic in this room take over.

"Care to talk about it, Granger? Maybe your mouth flapping will keep you from keeling over."

She turns up her face to meet mine. She looks weary and in need of a good, fortifying meal.

"Why do you even care, Ferret?"

"It's not as if I've got anything better to do, Granger," I drawl languorously.

When a response from her is not forthcoming, I add, "I _can_ listen, Bookworm. Can't promise I won't jab at you while you tell it, but I _can_ listen."

"My trust in you is extremely limited in scope, Malfoy. It's baby steps from here on out. Why don't you give me a reason to believe you."

I continue to look to her. I can understand her reluctance. I truly haven't given her any cause to trust a word that falls from my lips. Being of a more suspicious mind myself, I decide to offer her something I would find acceptable in this case.

So, beyond the offering of this olive branch, lies the more disturbing realization that I've grown curious about _this_ Mudblood, and I simply want to keep her in my company tonight.

I just can't fathom _why_.

"Why don't we make our mutual secret keeping part of the oath we made over this sodding cabinet?" I gesture toward the still faulty cabinet behind me, then look down at her, the caution clear on her face. "If you, or I, tell _anyone_ what happens in here, we'll both have to suffer whatever hell Snape conjured up as a punishment for the breaking of the oath.""

I see the dawning of understanding reach her intelligent brain. At least with _her_ I don't have to spell out my need for discretion at my uncharacteristic spilling of family secrets, even if the words had barely made sense to even myself as I'd uttered them.

"I see, Malfoy. An eye for an eye, then?"

"I'd rather not gouge out body parts, Granger," I reply wryly.

"I suppose you have a spell for this sort of secret keeping, Malfoy?"

"But, of course. Slytherins are taught it as soon as they're out of their nappies!"

With lips tightly pursed, she looks to me expectantly.

I toy with telling her it involves handholding, since the last time we did _that_ it sent a delicious, taboo thrill through me, but I decide against it. I'm already heading into uncharted territory with _this_ as it is.

"OK, Granger, hold out your wand. We'll touch them together and then... just repeat after me."

She narrows her eyes at my mouth, but after a moment of contemplation, she holds out her wand. I reach mine out to touch hers and say, "_Specialis congruo!_"

She waits to see if my incantation results in any visual feedback. When nothing happens, she repeats the spell, "_Specialis congruo!_"

Blue light, much like the chords that had swirled around our hands when we'd pledged the oath, shines from our wand tips, tiny bolts of lighting meet between the tips. I'd done this sort of secret-keeping enchantment before, with previous playmates.

I'd forgotten how mesmerizing the light is. There is a small spark at the top of the angle we create with our barely touching wands, and then the light disappears.

"There you go, Granger, your insurance," I sit down, attempting to make myself comfortable.

She smiles appreciatively and moves into a more comfortable position alongside the parchment. She's lying on her side, elbow propped up, her cheek rests in a hand. She sends me a soft look. I try not to notice her robes falling to mould to her very female curves. Seems Granger keeps herself a well-hidden secret beneath the school uniform.

I mentally slap myself for the unbidden thought.

Again, I need to remind myself that she's common, despite all evidence that points to the fact she's better, much better, at least mentally, than any pureblood, even half-blood, girl, I know.

"Judging from your earlier incomprehensible ranting, some sort of dark madness is plaguing your life, Malfoy. So, in comparison, my worries are, thankfully, much more miniscule. I fear you wouldn't find them the least bit tantalizing."

I close my eyes, blocking out the distracting sight of her. Now that they're closed, I have no desire to open them again.

"Be that as it may, you're still obviously bothered by them. Try me, Granger," I suggest. "Besides, I suspect you don't want to divulge whatever it is to your friends. In this way, I might be of some assistance, for I am certainly _not_ a _friend_."

I move to rest my back against the cabinet and wait patiently for her to begin her story. I groan a little as I unfold my long legs in front of me and rest my hands on my thighs.

My unspoken dare hangs in our mutual silence.

_Will she show me she can indeed trust me, just as she'd pledged over the parchment just minutes ago?_

She sighs softly.

"You're right. You're not a friend, Malfoy. How can you be? You have no idea what having, or being, a friend means!" she gives voice to the depressing thoughts that have flitted about in the fringes of my mind for a while now. "Fine, Malfoy, I'll be the first to cross the fine line between friend and foe, but don't say I didn't warn you! I swear, if I hear you sniggering about _this_ to those so-called Slytherin cronies of yours-"

I cut off her warning.

"Save it, Granger. Those sods are hardly interested in _me_ these days. I can't imagine them caring about _my_ life, much less _yours," _ I bite this out, realizing that I'm trying to keep her talking before I fall asleep. "Look, I'm not looking for your pity. Just a safe harbor, for even just a moment. You have absolutely no idea how difficult it is to be _me_, every moment of every hour, feeling like I'm being stalked!"

I watch her squirm uncomfortably.

"You, Granger, have no concept whatsoever how much work it takes to maintain my reputation, or make the dreadful discovery that indeed you are without friends once the fear is gone. So, don't _you_ dare sit there in judgement of me and voice your perception of my inadequacies. You've no idea what I've gone through."

I have no idea where I'm taking this line of thought, but it seems to snap her out of her recalcitrant mood and into contemplative thought. Always a dangerous place to put a thinker like her. She's benevolent today, however.

"I'm sure I can't imagine what it's been like for you, Malfoy. But apparently, it's much easier for you to give off your haughty airs than it is to maintain your usually coiffed hairstyle," she quips, in an attempt, I believe, to lighten the mood, causing me, again, to form a hint of a smile.

I run my fingers through my product-less strands.

_Damn my housemates for rummaging through my things!_

The silence continues and I find myself teetering on the brink of sleep. Then Granger's voice rudely splashes through the threat of sleepiness that is coming over me in great lapping waves.

"I suppose, Malfoy, that it makes sense for you to actually let your hair down _once in a while," _she gracefully acquiesces.

"Actually, I no longer have my pomade," I admit sullenly.

I startle at her giggle.

"My Slytherin housemates, those arse-" I grind out.

"You mean, _inbred_ arse-"

I nod, feeling the crinkle of a smile tease the corner my lips as I accept her edit.

"My Slytherin housemates, those _inbred_ arseholes, went through my trunk and took it!" I explain grumpily.

"Malfoy, for all your infamous paranoia, why don't you have any locking charms on your trunk?"

"I never worried about my things getting stolen _before_," I shrug, with a slight pout. A little worry niggles in the deep recess of my brain, but I'm too tired to care. "Besides, it isn't as though I can't replace anything if it _is_ taken."

"It must be nice to have money, Malfoy," I hear her sulk.

"Money can buy lots of things, Granger, but it can't buy _real_ friends," I mumble sleepily. "Count yourself richer for actually _having_ some, no matter how moronic Scarhead and Weasel are."

I hear her surprised intake of breath, a sound I've just recently discovered I enjoy being the cause of.

I let out a gasp of my own, aghast at how easily the words that formed into a thought only a moment ago, slide so easily out of my mouth. I wonder if complete exhaustion accompanied with closing one's eyes, or finding oneself in the dark, acts a bit like veritaserum. I'm hoping there's some truth to my theory. I'd rather not think it's because of the present company I'm keeping that I'm finding truthfulness suddenly attractive.

"So, _why_ do you care, Malfoy?"

I am thankful my eyes are still shut, so I can answer somewhat candidly.

"Because _you're_ _here_, Granger. Even after all _that_," I gesticulate toward the book, indicating the loss of my signature control earlier. "After witnessing my personal fight with _emotion_, you're still _here_. You haven't even hinted at whispering the words, 'I told you so, Malfoy.' It's curious. This is your golden opportunity to gain the upper hand, kick me while I'm down. But you're not doing that. Why, Granger? You're supposed to despise me."

"Who says I still don't?"

Without my sight I'm able to listen more closely to her tone. To my astonishment, I find myself quite pleased to find her retort lacks its usual malice.

"And I told you before, Malfoy, don't assume I'll act like a Slytherin because I'm a Gryffindor and proud of it.… Anyway, like I said, my troubles are far less death-threatening than yours…. First of all… …"

Her voice begins to fade in and out. I wish for a cushion to sit on and magically a fabulously cushy pouf finds its way beneath my bum. I find something new to admire about the Room of Requirement. I must be halfway to sleep, I decide, because I don't engage her when she says my problems might be the death of me.

_Never mind that she'd just hit the nail on the head about my predicament._

"next, Ron said… and then..."

Her undulating voice is hypnotic. I send a wandless _Scourgify_ to the floor beneath me. I slide down onto my side, just like the pose she'd been in when I'd closed my eyes. I certainly hope that I wasn't getting too filthy. I use the cushion to cradle my head as I continue to listen to Granger. I remember, despite _my_ own need to "rest my eyes," to make occasional sounds and nods of encouragement for her to go on.

"And then Harry's acting extremely bizarre because of a-"

I strain to hear her next word, but she seems to have stopped, catching herself before revealing too much.

"…. And then that _insipid_ Lavender Brown, she… Ron is such a daft prat!… I could just-"

I chuckle a little at her exasperated exclamation, but say nothing.

"So, that's _it_ Malfoy. My biggest problem, is not being able to…"

Her words fade out again as I slide down the slippery slope toward slumber.

"have a dress, but no date for Slughorn's …"

Even in my sleep-induced stupor it occurs to me that she's being incredibly stupid to starve and worry herself sleepless because she's unable to find a date. How utterly illogical! I want to yell this at her, that she shouldn't concern herself so completely over such banalities when there are bigger, darker things to worry about. It doesn't immediately occur to me that what I see happening to her physically doesn't have one iota to do with what she's sharing with me now.

"…pathetic, right?…"

I'm barely conscious, no longer wanting to think of her issues, desperately wanting to not give a rat's ass about her anymore. My need for rest has me focusing on my desire to reprimand her for her constant yammering. I wish to point out to her that_, _at least, _I _show her the courtesy of silence when _she's "_resting her eyes" in the library.

I search my mind for all manners of etiquette and decide a soft little snore is OK to release. _She won't notice,_ I reason with myself sleepily. _After all, it's just Granger. She loves the sound of her own voice_. She'll talk incessantly if you let her. She won't notice I'm nearly napping as she continues to fume.

I nearly startle at her pesky voice when she aims questions at me.

"Malfoy? Are you awake?!"

Even though I _can_ hear her, I refuse to respond. Instead, I let out a soft, sleepy snuffle. I am brilliant at faking sleep. After all, it's how I survived most of this last summer.

"Malfoy?" Her voice is quite close. I keep my eyes closed and work to keep my breathing slow and even.

"_Hmmmmm_…" she sounds suspicious.

"And so, Malfoy," I feel her breath against my ear, and am overwhelmed by the scent of apricots. "Last night, I traveled to the Amazon and captured a spectacularly rude monkey. I've just finished training it to dance on your head every morning… For… the… rest… of… your… godforsaken… life!"

_Old trick_,_ I'm not falling for that one_. I continue to keep my eyes tightly shut and my mouth relaxed, though I do want to laugh at her imagery, except it's Potty's head the monkey's using as a dance floor, not mine.

I feel Granger's breath ruffle the fringe on my forehead. The tips of her hair tickle my nose. Her voice is quiet, but within hearing range.

"_Hmmmm_… Mal-foy?" she sings, "Are you _really_ asleep?"

_What a ridiculous question, Granger! _I think sternly.

"Alright then, now that you're not conscious, there is so much for me to say! Let's see. I can barely think of where to begin!" There's irrepressible delight in her voice. "Oh, I've been wanting to tell you this for weeks. You should take better care of yourself, Ferret. You look like hell."

I work very hard to keep my eyebrows from arching and my mouth slack with sleep.

"You're an insufferable git, you know that, Malfoy!? It should be against the law for you, even with this emo thing you've got going on this year, to look _this_ fantastic. It's false advertising, especially considering how foul you've always been to me!"

_Emo? I wonder if that's the same as metrosexual? I hadn't minded __**that**__ Muggle characterization last year. I'll assume it's manly because she did say I look entirely too fantastic for my own good._

I fight against my desire to send her a self-satisfied smile and wait silently for her to continue.

"And you _have_ to know you've been extremely vicious to me, Ferret! So, WHY in all the wizarding world would you _actually_ show me any bit of kindness NOW?! Of course, you would wait until AFTER I've finally decided that you are an irredeemable miscreant. Leave it to you to go and change the game just as I'm getting used to playing it! So infuriating!"

_Miscreant,_ I rather like that word. I know she's testing, seeing if she can get a rise from me. She's also speaking the truth. I feel her approach. I stay still and silent, taking note that her breath smells of peppermint and remnants of butterbeer.

"_Figures_! You boys are _all_ the same, insensitive louts, the lot of you! Not paying a bit of attention to me! Not realizing the fact that I'm a _girl_ and not just a brain with legs!" The annoyance in her huff would have been laughable had her undertone not been so heartsick. I shift a little, hiding half my face in the cushion, I release a sigh, and hear her quick intake of breath.

_Abrupt silence from her corner._

Enough time passes that the temptation to peek out of one eye is nearly irresistible, but I know she is watchful, so, I keep still. My patience is rewarded with the scent of apricots wafting over me once again. This time, I can feel her breath against my cheek, her mouth near my ear.

"Malfoy?"

I let out a sniff followed by another snuffly snore, burrowing my face further into the pouf, effectively moving my face away from the distraction of hers.

A relieved sigh… _hers_. I sense her pull away before she goes on.

"Well, Malfoy, since you're asleep, I think it's apropos for me to at last thank you for the flower. It was quite sweet of you to think of it. I'm pressing it in my favorite book. I thought you might want to know…" she gives a little self-conscious laugh. "Well, since you're actually asleep, you'll never _really_ know that. Still… it's nice to say it out loud to you. At least you're not mocking me for it. _That_ is the benefit of me telling you when you're dead to the world."

I pull my legs and arms closer to me as her scent and warmth drift away.

"You know, if things were different, Malfoy," she says so softly I fear I may be dreaming it, "I think maybe I'd ask _you_ to Slughorn's party. Considering who's left, you're not _so_ bad." I hear a tiny smile in her voice. "I'd even venture that in that spectacular looking chest of yours, you've a little heart beating there."

At her whispered regret and mind-blowing compliment, I struggle to keep my eyes closed. I shift again to my side, pull myself into a tight fetal position so as to ease the fluttering ache in the center of my being, a place I'd like to think of as a vast and empty void, especially when it comes to the likes of Granger.

She's silent now, but from the shuffling noises, it seems she's walking around me. She quietly casts a warming spell over my resting form. I _feel_ rather than hear the charm because the cold air that had been settling on me dissipates. She must have also wished for a cot and coverlet, because I feel myself now wrapped in comfort, a sort of tucked in feeling you have as a small child after being kissed goodnight by a mother who loves you.

I allow myself a tiny peek from beneath my lashes and see she's settled herself across the divide outlined by the book and the lengthy parchment. She pulls herself in a little cocoon as well. I watch her mutter something and perform some familiar hand flicks.

_Alarm charm. _

_Smart girl._

Knowing I won't have to worry about my safety, or even something as mundane as oversleeping, I slide more deeply into the blessed oblivion of slumber.

* * *

_**A few hours later  
POV: Draco**_

* * *

The tinkling of bells drags me back to semi-consciousness, the sound would be pleasant to hear had the ringing not been so incessant. I moan a little at the intrusion, but refuse to open my eyes. I don't want to risk ruining a perfectly fantastic dream about me and a certain Gryffindor.

Unfortunately, the sound does not cease as I'm chasing the wisps of my dreamland fantasy. Because there's been no response to the tiny, but effective alarm, I assume Granger is as sound asleep as I had been. I open my eyes only a crack to figure out if I can do something about stopping the continuous ringing. I'm welcomed by the sight of Granger's back facing me. She is only now sleepily responding to the irritating alarm. I see it is in the shape of a little frog at the side of her head.

Still stealthily feigning sleep, back to using one eye to peek at her behind the cover of eyelashes, I try not to smile as the little alarm continues its interminable ringing while now bouncing up and down on her shoulder.

_Clever._

It does its job because she at last gets up, first grumpily mumbling and swatting at it. This sends it flying, which causes her to sit up at attention. She huffs and then at last she lifts herself from her wrappings to try to find it and finally quiet it. Granger leaves my line of sight in her pursuit of the small enchanted frog alarm. I hear her stumbling among the random objects in the near darkness of the room. I do not turn my head to follow the sounds. I smile at her muttered curses.

_I need to learn how to conjure one of those._

I assume she catches it because the bell ringing thankfully terminates. I find myself closing my eyes again and settling more deeply into my covers, welcoming the renewed silence with more sleep.

"Malfoy? Are you awake?" her urgent whisper, beckons me open my eyes, but I stubbornly refuse, quite suddenly of the strong belief that my life depends on my capturing more shut-eye.

I bury my face further into the cushion with a protesting moan.

"Malfoy?"

I am as surprised as she is to hear my sleepy mumbled response.

"Please, mum," I whine, my long forgotten boyhood excuse escaping from my subconscious out through my lips. "I feel sick and don't wanna go to school today."

There is a soft muffled sound just above my head that can only have come from her. I can only surmise it's a quickly squelched giggle.

I slip further beneath the covers, mortified.

Then, her annoyed harrumph reaches my ears, but her next words are gentle.

"I do suppose you need _this_ more than your prefect badge," she whispers softly, the reprimand benign. "It's OK, Malfoy, I'll find someone to cover for you."

I feel her attempt to gently smooth down the damnable cowlick I'd been fighting for weeks.

With a little surprise, even with her hand on me, I find it effortless to keep my breathing relaxed and even. Her careful touch is calming. This is the best bloody rest I've had since the beginning of the term and I don't want to wake up yet.

Still, she continues to speak, keeping me tethered to the reality of the awful things beyond the doors of this room. I wish only for oblivion and I want her to leave me alone. I fear a temper tantrum coming if she doesn't stop talking. Right. Now.

"Pity that the only place we can be decent to each other is in _this_ room," she whispers regretfully, so close I catch again the scent of apricots and peppermint. "And, of course, now we've absolutely got to keep _this_ secret, because I'd die if you ever knew what would befall me if I didn't."

She continues absently, gently, running her fingers through the strands of my hair. I find myself annoyed at how ecstatic I am that my hair is not behaving properly enough for her so that she continues her ministrations.

Her half confession piques my interest. My annoyance at her is temporarily forgotten. My heart pounds in my ears as I focus all my energy on pretending to be suspended in subconsciousness, wondering if she'll reveal anything else.

"_Wingardium Lumos!_" she whispers, her hand leaving my hair. I feel the covers being pulled up over my shoulders as I try not to smile at her casting of the flying nightlight charm.

Mum used that one a lot for me when I was little.

_Hey! The Manor's a big place!_

"Goodnight, Malfoy," she whispers. I feel a softness at my cheek. I find that I'm sorry for being left to wonder if she'd used her fingertips, or lips to place the touch on my face. "Sweet dreams, Ferret. I hope you get some much needed rest."

Her hushed use of the hated term as an endearment puts a touch of a smile on my face. I hear the soft swish of her robes recede as she leaves the room.

* * *

**_In the Corridor  
POV: Cormac McLaggen_**

* * *

I watch Hermione Granger stop haltingly in front of the tapestry of trolls doing ballet.

_Nice piece of ass, that one. Made even more attractive now that Potter and Weasley have both warned me off._ _So __**that's**__ where she's hidden herself off to, the notorious Room of Requirement. _

_With Malfoy? _

_Right. _

_She can't even stand the prat! _

_Those two numbskull friends of hers have got it all wrong. Likely, she's up to something, though without the other two of the Golden Trio, I can't think what._

Whether or not _he_ was with her, it was only to my benefit that Malfoy wasn't sulking around in his quarters today. I've perfected my disillusionment charm and have been slipping into the Slytherin common room for kicks. One of my dorm mates dared me to steal something from one of the gits in the silver and green. I'd done it twice now. Malfoy's expensive pomade is now sitting in _my_ trunk, a rather humorous trophy. Adding to it is the presumably expensive, after all what does Malfoy own that isn't expensive?, bottle of liquor I found on my covert trip to his room today.

I need a host's gift and I've got a mind to ask Hermione to the Slug's party. I believe that particular bottle now has the new Potions Professor's name written all over it.

"Oi, Hermione!" I shout to capture her attention, flashing her my most dashing smile.

"Hello, Cormac, what are you doing up here?" she replies quietly, her eyes sliding back and forth between me and the tapestry.

"To tell you the truth, I was looking for you."

"Oh, um, I'm on prefect rounds, Cormac" she says, nervously, eyes shifting, "Would you mind terribly if we walked and talked?"

"No, sure," I reply breezily. She had a purposeful stride. Had it not been for my unique brand of athleticism, I imagine I'd be panting in her wake.

She moves briskly away from the tapesty, and we're halfway down the corridor when she moves in front of me, obviously waiting for me to continue.

"Did you have a concern you wanted to voice, Cormac?" she asks sweetly. Her smile is beguiling, but I have a sneaking suspicion she's staring over my shoulder.

_Maybe too shy to meet my eyes._

"I was wondering, do you have a date to Slughorn's party, Hermione?"

She looks startled at my inquiry. I suppose she's never had good looking blokes ask her out before. Viktor had been a prime catch, considering his fame, but he certainly isn't in possession of _my_ classically strong bone structure.

"No, actually, I don't, Cormac," she says, a little too quickly, interrupting my thought process. Clearly, she's eager to have me ask her. I send her another winsome smile and a wink.

Her eyes widen and she flinches. Obviously, it's her unique reaction to my handsome beauty. It is fairly difficult to stare too long at such physical perfection, I'll give her that.

I eye her with an open invitation in my gaze.

"Well, seeing as we're both without a date, Hermione, I was wondering if you'd like to attend the party with me?" I ask, throwing in a bit of that fake halting tone that girls believes is nerves on a male. Makes them feel good that a bloke is a bit tongue-tied, I suspect. I gaze longingly at her, waiting for a response, and I even bother to thow in a tiny measure of pleading in my look.

She turns her head to stare squarely back at me, she takes a minute, and her brown eyes glisten a little.

_ Will she cry out of happiness to be asked by the likes of me?_ I wonder. It would be a first, but certainly understandable.

"I'd be honored to attend Slughorn's Dinner Party with you, Cormac," she says, a little too loudly.

I move in to hug her to thank her, but she moves away, not realizing I'd been moving toward her, I suppose.

"I'll meet you in the common room fifteen minutes before and we can walk over together, is that OK?" she asks again, her decibel levels heightened as though I'd lost my hearing.

I frown a little at her bizarre behavior, but attribute it to lack of food and sleep. She certainly looks as she could use both.

"That sounds fine, Hermione," I say gallantly. "I'll see you then."

"Sure thing, Cormac."

I find it odd that she travels back the way we'd come, but shrug it off since she must have some sort of pattern she has to keep to for rounds. I make my way to the tower, looking forward to the lustful look in Slughorn's eyes for the gifts I'll be bringing him.

_

* * *

**Down the other corridor  
POV: Hermione**

* * *

_

"Harry Potter!" I shout, furiously. "Why are you following me? Have you tired of stalking Malfoy already?"

"I heard you and Cormac, Hermione."

"Wait. Wait. Let me guess," I say tiredly. "_You don't like it_. Well, he and I are going, Harry! And there's nothing YOU can do about it!"

He stares and seems to sense a dare in my statement. His glasses glint, reflecting the torch light that illuminate the halls. I'm unable to get a clear read of his eyes.

Disquieted by my stubborn stance, he asks haltingly, "Hermione. Why didn't you ask…"

I have a snaking feeling that he's struggling with what he's going to say. I can't decide if I want to lean in closer, or run far far away before hearing the rest of his inquiry. He heaves a sigh before finishing, "Ron? Why didn't you ask Ron?"

"Ron?! Are you serious, Harry? If you haven't noticed, he's got a rather obnoxious Lavender Brown permanently attached to his lips! And frankly, I do believe he likes..."

"Ron _likes_ you," Harry insists. "He's always fancied you."

"And I like him, too," I say, confused. "But, he's my friend, Harry._ That's all_. There's been no indication that he fancies me!"

"I always thought _you_ fancied Ron," he says with a stunned voice. "Honestly, Hermione, I really thought…"

"How could I, Harry? Ron's one of my best friends! And you're _usually_ my other one, but lately you've been an unbelievable arse!"

For the life of me, I can't comprehend the look of shock on Harry's usually calm, but more recently angry, face.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he replies remorsefully. Sincerity flows over his every word. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Well, I do, actually... But..."

I cock my head at him, wondering anew why Harry has been acting so oddly. Tapping my foot, hands on hips, I wait for him to continue.

"I think I've gone mental with all this kissing and getting together all over the castle. It's all bound to drive any singly bloke completely barmy, Hermione. I really am so sorry for my abominable behavior. It's just that… It's just that I can't stand the thought of you having to spend time with Malfoy."

"He's not _that_ bad, Harry," I say softly, expecting another stinging reprimand for my defense of Malfoy.

I watch the internal struggle cross over onto Harry's face and into his stance. The green of his eyes flash defiance. He snaps his head to the side, as if having an apoplectic twitch. Then, he stops all movement very suddenly, his body apparently complying with his internal orders to stop the madness.

He sighs a little and he shakes his head. Then, his green eyes gaze at me again, reminding me of the afternoon when he seemed to be seeing _me_ for the very first time.

Now, where there had been a hard set to his rather luscious mouth, a soft smile plays there. I'm hypnotized by the self-control he's exhibiting. At the sound of my assurances that Malfoy isn't completely malevolent, I watched with interest the tensing of Harry's muscled form.

He'd looked about ready to blow his top, but now seems to have worked through a complete mental meditation that in turn touched every part of his body that bristled at my comment. Witnessing the transformative process of him finding relaxation and regaining his easy going manner has me wondering what such a visible change process might look like if Harry was out from under his robes.

_Merlin's pants, woman! Get your hormones under control! _I shout at myself._ This is the second time tonight you've let them control your thoughts!_

"Let's not fight, 'Mione" he offers amicably. His hand reaching out to touch my arm in physical familiarity. It's an apology that needs no words.

I'm still slightly taken aback.

"O - Kaaaay," I say cautiously.

Where I'd expected fervid disapproval, he's suddenly returned as the young man I'd grown to love through these five intense years of fighting for the Light.

"I've been needing a girl's perspective for a few weeks now. Ron's no help, and Luna keeps talking about nargles."

_Oh, so it's only now that he notices I'm female? And he truly couldn't get over himself long enough to come and apologize for his out of bounds behavior? I'm __**third**__ in line now?_

I watch him busily dig into his robe pockets, unaware of my growing irritation.

"I've been fighting off girls all week," he explains, his head down, struggling with extracting whatever is in his pocket, "and it's been killing me that I haven't been able to talk to you about it."

I chafe a little at his words. I don't know why. To hide my discomfort, I do try to laugh. It comes off like a scoff,_ but still, my good faith efforts should count!_

I step toward Harry to see what he's got.

"Mistletoe?"

"_This_ is the bane of my existence since the holiday season started, actually," he sends me a sardonic smile, picking it up by the stem and examining it. "It's quite ridiculous. You know, the girls are levitating these into the air and following me around in packs!?"

I sigh incredulously and purse my lips. I've heard about the hordes of females that have taken to stalking Harry as though he were some sort of prey. It would have been hilarious had the thought of it not been utterly vexing.

"What exactly would you like to ask of me, Harry?" I say trying not to sound too put out.

He looks sheepishly at me now, his stare turns intense, and I can feel growing heat under my collar. He shifts on his feet and finally lays claim to his voice.

"I've been wondering, Hermione, where the one girl I'd most like to find under the mistletoe has taken herself off to."

My eyes go round in shock as he holds the mistletoe above my head.

"Actually, Hermione," he says rather huskily, taking a step closer. "I was rather hoping a kiss from _you_ might help me restore the unfathomable joy that, in my understanding, is supposed to be a result of this particular tradition."

_I shake my head. This cannot be happening!_

"And it wouldn't hurt if you might also possibly consider kissing and making up?" he inquires this of me in that same seductive tone.

I stare wide-eyed at him. My eyes grow wider still as I see who's just stepped into the hallway, behind Harry. I try not to stare at Malfoy, who appears adorably mussed. His hair is sticking out at odd places and a sweet smile plays at his lips.

_Gods! Did I just call the Ferret, __**adorable**__?!_

His usually impeccably pressed robes are wrinkled as though he'd slept in them.

_Oh... right..._

I can barely believe I'm hearing the sound of an impossibly happy humming of a Christmas carol coming from the tall blond. His head moves slightly, catching my sudden movement down the dark corridor. I see his grey eyes flash. He ventures forward, halting mid-step. He appears stupefied at the sight of me and this boy holding mistletoe above my head.

_Merlin, I hope he doesn't know it's Harry!_

"Hermione? Are you going to accept my apology?" Harry asks anxiously, his smile wavering, his tremendous courage flailing. I fear his unmistakable voice is echoing down the hall.

I flick my gaze over his shoulder before answering. Of course, Malfoy's still there watching. His hands hold the book we'd been laughing over several hours before.

"Uh, yes, Harry." I say distractedly, my focus stealing off to settle on the striking blond who is now showing the tension Harry had only a minute ago.

_Merlin's Pants! I'd just unwittingly given away Harry's identity. Can the earth swallow me up whole now. Please!_

I scowl as my wish remains unfulfilled.

_What's the point of being a witch if you can't use magic during desperate times like these?_

I am extremely perturbed to be left a witness to the expected sneer slowly sliding onto Malfoy's face.

_Please, please, Malfoy, do __**not**__ walk this way._

I find myself desperately cursing myself for not having practiced more wandless magic over the summer.

_What I would do for the ability to cast an unspoken, wandless "Incarcerous!" right about now!_

"Really, Hermione?" Harry says with a wide smile, closing the gap between us so I can feel the strength of his well-defined chest against my softer curves.

_Damn that quidditch! It's because of all that training that these boys are growing into such virile young men. Despicable outdoor exercise!_

"For pity's sake, Harry. Yes, really! It's fine," I say exasperatedly, now distracted by his closeness, and the woodsy outdoor scent I've always associated with him.

Trying to speak with my eyes alone, I send a warning out to Malfoy to keep his distance.

Of course, the prat doesn't take heed.

I take a moment to close my eyes, hoping this nightmare will all _just_ go away. I open my mouth to take in a fortifying breath and am suddenly greeted with the softness of Harry's lips touching mine.

_Merlin!_

My very first kiss!

And it's Harry and it's…

… _quite good, actually. _

His lips move expertly over mine, teasing the corners, resting at the seam, where my lips meet. I feel the soft press of the tip of his tongue… wet… gently begging entrance. I open hesitatingly, inviting him in. I tentatively lick his lips, dipping into _his_ mouth. He tastes of chocolate. _Delicious!_

A deep, pleased sound rumbles from his chest up into his throat. My eyelids drift closed. I feel his hand cup my jaw, drawing me closer. I greedily oblige.

_Mmmm. Sweet and… _

_My gods! This is Harry! _

THIS. IS. HARRY! AND. I. NEED. TO. STOP. RIGHT. RIGHT. RIGHT. NOW!

…_or maybe in another second or two…_

I feel his fingers curl into my hair and the other hand wrap around my waist. The pretense of the mistletoe excuse obviously long forgotten.

After the headlong kiss that leaves me oblivious to all else, he pulls away for a shuddering breath, returning to shower fluttery kisses on my lips, sending delicious shots of tingles throughout my body. I pull myself toward him reaching out with my face for more.

"Hermione?" he says between soft caresses. His teeth nipping at my lower lip.

"Hmmm?" I manage, having already forgotten all time and space. I'm slightly disturbed that an image on an altogether different wizard swims into my brain. I focus on pushing the annoying picture of _him_ from my mind as I try to summon another kiss.

"I do believe we have an audience." Harry whispers, a smile on his lips as he touches them to mine one last time. I feel him lift his head away, his arms pulling me closer against him to see who'd caught us under the mistletoe.

I feel the sharp staccato of Harry's heartbeat beneath my hand. The increased speed, I fear, has nothing to do with the intimacy we've just shared.

"Malfoy," a snarl of robust disdain rips from Harry's throat as he looks up to discover who stands behind me. The repulsive cockroach seems to have regained locomotion in his limbs as he'd finally walked over to and around us, not to mention, he's now quietly clapping his hands, offering us annoying applause. "Where's the Weasel? I'm sure he wouldn't mind front row tickets to this."

"There's nothing to see here, Ferret," Harry grinds out, his grip tightening around my waist. The sight of the possessive movement, tautens the muscles at Malfoy's jaw. "That is, of course, unless you need a lesson on how to properly kiss a _willing_ girl. I'd be more than happy to oblige your need to study, as I'm sure Hermione wouldn't mind. It's an academic cause, after all."

I gasp. Harry did not just insinuate I was no more than one of his harpy groupies and such a wanton hussy to be open to having onlookers invade something so..._ private_!

I feel the color rising to my cheeks as my palm itches to slap someone. Namely, Harry Potter. But before I can turn around to deliver it, I hear a low growl come from Malfoy who must have also caught onto the insult to my character, if not the clear insult to his prowess. I look quickly to him, but again, my response to _him_, which would have been kind, is halted because the Ferret decides to open his toxic mouth.

"That was quite a show, Granger," Malfoy's acerbic tone cuts through me and I stiffen.

"Make yourself scarce, Malfoy," I bite out, slightly embarrassed, but grab hold of Harry's hand to anchor myself. Malfoy notices my change in stance and his smirk moves swiftly into scowl. I'm using Harry's hold so I don't launch myself at Malfoy in my great desire to tear his silky blond hair out clump by stringy clump.

Malfoy looks down on me, focusing in on my mouth, then sniffs disdainfully. His lips curl hatefully at me.

"And miss this delightful opportunity to mock you, Granger? Hardly! Come, come, you must know me better than that… by now," he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Though he continues to speak to me, he turns to face Harry. "Well, my Gryffindor Princess, why don't you tell Potter here what you were doing _with me _before he showed up bearing his…" the Ferret looks down to disdainfully kick the little weed with the tip of his shoe, "…mistletoe."

I grind my teeth at his use of such an insulting pet name and the indecency of his insinuation about him and me.

I feel Harry's shocked intake of breath as his hold loosens on me. I turn slightly to watch his head whip between the Slytherin git and myself. I'm annoyed that of all the times for Malfoy to neglect maintaining a spotless appearance, it would be now! He looks as though I'd been running me fingers through his hair.

_Which, of course I had been, but that's besides the point!_

I can only imagine what lunacy is now playing in Harry's head as he looks from Malfoy to my flustered self, taking in our wrinkled robes and the self-satisfied smirk the cockroach wears every time he has the audacity to glance at me. It's not difficult for me to make the mental leap. I can imagine, it's the same for Harry.

_Malfoy knows I can't tell the truth, that slimy, rotting piece of putrid…_

My teeth clench as I try to think about how to explain Malfoy's outrageous claims to Harry without spilling any truth. Even speaking just a bit about the inconsequential interaction that transpired between Malfoy and me earlier would likely have me forcibly trying to control the urge to step up to Malfoy and throw myself at him. Through the slightest hint at breaking the oath, I'd found the nearly irrepressible desire to confirm the worst of Harry's unspoken suspicions about me and the blond tosser.

My enraged silence seems to egg Malfoy on.

"You do realize, with that repulsive public display of affection, and it, unfortunately, being after hours, well, that's going to cost your house," Malfoy intones regally, apparently ready to play prefect for the very first time all year. "You've just lost your house 20 points each. You two, you should be ashamed of your smutty selves."

"It was just a _little_ kiss, Malfoy," I argue, unintentionally downplaying the most fabulous kiss. EVER… well, also _my only kiss ever_… but still!

I refuse to look at Harry in case I accidentally insulted him.

The putrid, puss-filled wanker then has the nerve to say, "I can forgive _you_ the points, Granger, that is if you are willing to… ahhh," he stops short of making the lascivious suggestion, thereby making the innuendo even more crude. He adds fuel to the already blazing inferno of rage he's stoking behind in Harry, and within me, by giving me the same lewd once over he did in front of Ron.

After a painful heartbeat of a second, where I'm gripping my wand trying to decide which painful hex I want to use, the Slytherin bastard decides to continue, "I assure you, Bookworm, should you choose to pleasure yourself with the likes of me while making up the points, there would be nothing _little_ about what might _arise _between _us._"

His smirk sends Harry over the edge. Using what little willpower I have, I clamp my hand down on Harry's wand arm before he can send an Unforgivable in Malfoy's direction.

_Where is Malfoy's exceptionally vile and belligerent attitude coming from? _I wonder helplessly.

As the question fills my brain, I point my own wand at Malfoy. Tears are threatening and I am frustrated because all of my usually perfunctory comebacks escape me. Violent infuriation having temporarily stolen my voice, I feel Harry's gaze drill into me. At my continued speechlessness, he goes from expectant to exasperated.

What I see shining in the green depths of his eyes hurts far worse than any _Crucio!_

A glimmer of distrust flares into blazing disgust of me. It is at this precise moment that I feel the sweet sensation of my first kiss slip away.

"Hermione?!"

The sound of _another_ male voice reaches me from around the corner.

_Sweet Merlin! What now?_

"Cormac," Harry sneers through gritted teeth as the tall figure nears.

Harry's irate glare flits between McLaggen and Malfoy. Malfoy isn't keeping his animosity of the former Gryffindor Keeper in check either. As the three continue to throw daggers at each other, Harry lets go of my hand to place himself in front of me, facing the other two without my body as an impediment.

Not one to hide behind his robes, I sidestep away, closer to Cormac, much to the obvious chagrin of both Harry and Malfoy.

Taller than both Malfoy and Harry by half a head, Cormac sidles closer to me and ends the strained silence.

"Hermione, I came back to ask-," Cormac pauses, at last coming to understand the true reason for the tension in the tight circle. He seems to puff out his chest as he says, "Hermione, do you have a color you'd prefer that I wear for the _party_?"

At his last word, he looks as though he's ready to flash a triumphant Cheshire cat grin at the two other boys.

"Oh," I say rather stupidly. "I really don't have a preference, Cormac. I'll be wearing a pastel peach colored dress, but you can wear-"

"Seems you've been quite busy tonight, Granger," the rude, interrupting drawl originates from the obvious source. What's not so obvious to the others is the depth of feeling in Malfoy's stormy glare which hasn't left my face since Cormac couched a question in the single utterance of my name.

_Malfoy's almost acting… jealous. _

I play with that surprising thought for only a moment because there's more than one wizard who's infuriated with me right now.

"So you're not even going to reconsider going with McLaggen, even after-" The hurt, incredulousness in _that_ voice is quite obvious. Harry stops himself, remembering who is paying witness.

"Perhaps your meaningless _little_ kiss drove her to accepting the charms of another, Potty," suggests Malfoy with rancor.

"Obviously you didn't score either, Malfoy. She's going with Cormac, isn't she?! Not YOU!" Harry retorts angrily, his usual tact having flown out the window along with his pride.

I let out a horrified gasp.

Harry turns on me then.

"How many bad decisions have you made tonight, Hermione?!" His question borders on shouting at me. "I want to retch at the idea I've been kissing lips touched by _that_ Slytherin wanker!"

"Do not speak to her in that manner," comes Malfoy's haughty, reprimanding tone, forcing Harry to whirl around. I stare at the both of them, my mouth gaping as I turn my full attention to Malfoy, speechless at the irony of the whole situation.

Before Harry can respond to the Ferret's uncharacteristic castigation of Harry all for the benefit of my defense, I forcibly push myself between them.

"How dare either of you treat me like a madonna, or a whore," I shout, taking both my hands now and shoving against one chest and then the other. "I'm _me_, and Harry, you of all people should know I wouldn't do_ anything _like what Malfoy's suggesting! And Malfoy, if you truly knew _me_, you'd have left the moment you saw me with Harry. It's becoming ever more clear that no one really knows the true me..."

To my horror I'm starting to sound heartbroken at Harry's lack of trust in my judgement, at Malfoy... well... for _being_ Malfoy. I tug again at my anger, pulling it around me as I force myself to go on.

"I can do what I like!!" I continue on a shout, pleased that my voice has regained strength, "I can do what I like _when_ I like! I can choose whom to spend time with. I can choose who I refuse to be around! Not one of you can _tell_ me, or _bully_ me into doing whatever it is you want me to do! Because I am in charge of me! The only one who can take care of me... is ME!!"

"… and for the record, mates, I_ asked_ her," Cormac claims, proudly, standing beside me trying to grab at my hand. His motion does not escape Malfoy who doesn't bother to keep the look of ultimate loathing, aimed at McLaggen, off his face. "She said yes immediately, of course. Potter, you and Weasley were _both_ wrong. Hermione is not the least bit sanctimonious."

I stare at Harry, whose offensive mouth thankfully shuts. I am again hurt beyond measure by my very best friend while being forced to hear Malfoy's muffled, mocking laughter.

I turn my scowl at McLaggen. Why would Cormac say _that, _especially while I'm standing beside him? In front of Malfoy?!

Stupid boys!

Horrified, I slowly step backwards, drawing myself out of everyone's reach. My eyes never leave the three of them. The anger in me is still rising quickly and I try in vain to restrain it because the dark power of it is extremely frightening.

"I'm leaving," I announce loudly to no one in particular, gathering the courage to do the right thing and attempt a somewhat graceful exit. "For all I care, the three of you can go on comparing the size of your wands. I doubt it will be much of a contest, though, you're _all_ rather impotent when it comes to proper enchantments," I shout pointedly at each of them.

As I turn the corner I hear Cormac's shout.

"We still have a date, Hermione, right? I'll be on the lookout for something that complements your dress in the meanwhile. I'm looking forward to seeing you primped up again, just like at the last Yule! I'm sure you're looking forward to seeing me in all my finery, too!"

I roll my eyes at Cormac's daft, self-centered shallowness.

_Idiots, the lot of them!_

_

* * *

Author's note: Anyone care to offer a suggestion on how Hermione can become a "Weapon" against Harry? I'd love to read your insights and predictions/guesses as to what might happen. Feedback really helps me develop the plot line and it certainly helps keep the muse alive. She's threatening to go... and I've still got a ways before the end!! Won't you please review? Hope you enjoyed the lengthy installment. __**Joyeux Noël**_ !


	14. The Weasel, the Boor, and the Ferret

**The Weasel, the Boor, and the Ferret**

* * *

**_Gryffindor Common Room  
POV: Ron Weasley_**

* * *

I watch her angrily make her way into the common room. I've learned to run when she looks like this, but tonight her eyes search me out, unusual since it's usually Harry she looks for.

I'd been lying alone on the sofa, staring at the fire, contemplating some new complications in my life, thoroughly thankful Lavender decided it was high time she was off to partake of her beauty sleep.

Truth be told, I was waiting for Harry to show up. We needed to talk.

I hadn't expected Hermione to be done with her rounds so early.

Hermione stomps over to the sofa and stares down at me, her lip trembling, eyes glistening. She looks incredibly distressed. In response to her disturbing silence, I do what comes naturally and hold my arms out to her. She releases a grateful sort of gasp and a watery look trips across her features as she wilts into me.

She doesn't sob like normal girls, which gets me all choked up, too. I don't do well with crying girls and to see Hermione in this state, well, it threw me for a loop. My heart firmly lodges itself in my throat as I feel the brunt of her wracking shoulders against me. The near convulsive movements should be accompanied by soulful, heart wrenching sobs, but not for Hermione, who shed her tears in near silence. This sort of soundless weeping isn't natural, especially for a girl like her. It shakes me up because the Hermione I know is always full of words, even in fury she's rarely without them. Perhaps I've never seen her truly heartbroken, defenseless.

I comfortingly rub her back and gently push the tumble of hair out of her face. She slides herself next to me on the sofa. I notice how she's lost so much weight that she can easily fit on the remaining expanse of the sofa seat, which isn't a lot of space since I'm flat on my back.

I say nothing, just hold her, and let her shed tears as I continue to stare into the fire and wonder if I have to commit some sort of unthinkable harm to whomever made her come to me this way.

The sound of the portrait hole opening causes Hermione, whose back is to the entrance, to stiffen next to me. I watch that git, Cormac, climb through. He arrogantly swaggers toward Hermione and me. I throw him a warning glare. He shrugs and turns to move toward the boys' dormitory.

"That was Cormac," I whisper. "He was looking for you earlier. Did he find you?"

She nods.

"Is that why you're crying?"

No response.

What ends my questioning is the sound of The Fat Lady's scoldings against the rudeness of students these days as the portrait hole opens wide and slams shut again with some veritable force. I immediately know the cause of Hermione's upset. It doesn't take a grand wizard to read and understand the look on my best mate's face as soon as Harry shoves his way through the opening.

His gaze turns enraged as his eyes fall on the sofa where Hermione and I are. His face twists hatefully at the sight of us before he decides to voice his absolute displeasure.

"Another conquest, Hermione?" he spits out viciously.

I feel her further stiffen and wince at his words.

"Harry!" I admonish with an incredulous shout. I start to stand up, but the feel of Hermione's grip on my upper arm keeps me still.

"What, Ron?!" I see that Harry's decided to vent some of his outlandish anger on me. His green eyes flash and I am reminded that there is definitely _something_ about my best mate that will have him prevailing over the likes of He Who Must Not Be Named. The determination and the dark look Harry sends me, takes me aback. His mouth is in a near snarl as he continues. I find myself holding Hermione just a tad tighter as well.

"Ask _Hermione_ what she's doing in the Room of Requirement with Malfoy, Ron! You wouldn't want to be touching her if you had _any_ idea!"

I glare at Harry for his outrageously nasty insinuation and choose not to respond to his baiting since I sort of have a general idea what's going on between our friend and Malfoy.

I seriously doubt it's anything like what Harry must be imagining, but I do know there is some tenderness growing between the Slytherin and our Hermione. I, surprisingly, have come to terms with the idea of this, but then again, I've also had some time to mull it over. Unfortunately, it's quite obvious that Harry has just been given an earful, and likely an eyeful, if Malfoy had been responsible for doing any of the telling.

Of course, my understanding comes from something I hadn't made Harry privy to, and that's having secretly witnessed Malfoy's small kindnesses toward Hermione those evenings in the library when he thought they were alone.

While he usually never touches her, or her things, he does use his wand and charms, to pull out chairs for her, pick up items off the floor that she's dropped, does most of the heavy lifting, and even offers to _Scourgify_ the ever present ink off her fingers and nose... Malfoy, in fact, does all sorts of things that Harry and I might overlook, or never even _think_ about doing for Hermione.

Perhaps it's because he's meticulous by nature, or more likely, it's in his breeding to behave this way toward _any_ female, whatever her blood. Either way, it's not something Hermione expects. Of this, I'm quite sure. So, in my mind, Malfoy's consistent, and I suppose one might even characterize it as, thoughtful and gentlemanly, behavior is not just out of character, but also seemingly completely without ulterior motive.

What had been downright baffling to watch was that one particularly private moment before he'd left her with the flower, quite unnerving that he looked at her so tenderly as she slept, even reaching out to touch her face with gentleness. Through witnessing this gesture, I knew instinctively that he would likely do all in his power to protect her. I'm not yet sure if he would sacrifice as much as I would, or as much as Harry would, but I knew he would fight for her if push came to shove.

The surprise of this unlikely revelation is perhaps why I am fine with accepting what might be happening between them.

What's more, Hermione, when she's not thoroughly annoyed with him, seems genuinely pleased by Malfoy, which has to count for _something_.

The thing is, Hermione simply hasn't been herself since coming back to Hogwarts this year. She'd been in such high spirits mid-summer when we'd been owling one another. It was tremendously worrying to see her so downtrodden upon our return. I reckon, it must be even worse than what I think because of the simple fact that I've noticed.

I'll be the first to admit that I usually overlook such things, particularly about her her, because for as long as I've known her, Hermione can be… testy and moody… sometimes… _err_… _most_ of the time.

So, whatever the cause of this abrupt change in the Ferret, not to mention in this gloomy Hermione, I'd finally determined that if _he_ can manage to put a smile on my best friend's face with such a small token, like a flower, then, she deserved _this_ happiness… even if it is caused by someone as unsavory as Malfoy.

Besides, if there is anyone alive who could find anything redeemable about _that_ prat, it would be Hermione.

_Who would've thought?! _A Malfoy, growing a heart? And if it were true, would that be _so_ terrible? Isn't that what we're trying to do here? Fan the flames of love, and not hatred? What could possibly be more poetic than a foresworn Mudblood-hater falling in love with a muggleborne witch? Particularly, this one, who's pledged herself one of the truest friends of Gryffindor Golden Boy, Harry Potter.

I frown and shake myself out of my thoughts, returning to the tension-filled present. I look to Harry who is still being ridiculously overbearing.

"How is it _any_ business of ours what Hermione does in her personal life, Harry?" I challenge, quite aware that we're being rude, speaking about her as though she isn't in the room with us. It is suddenly imperative, however, that I hear his answer to _my_ question, so I ignore my lack of manners for a moment.

"We are her _friends_, Ron," He bites out harshly, in tone that's hardly amiable. "Friends don't let friends snog, or _who_ _knows_ _what else_, with bastards like Malfoy."

I peer down at Hermione, who now looks more infuriated than woebegone. Her death-like grip on the front of my vest threatens to leave holes in it, but at least it's keeping her from reaching for her wand. Though, at this rate, her internal rage has enough power building in her that she would probably be successful at casting a possibly disfiguring wandless hex at Harry.

"You don't have to answer, Hermione, but _did_ you kiss Malfoy?" I whisper gently, rubbing my hand against her arm, trying for calming as I look into her face.

Her eyes go round, the her eyebrows knit together in what can only be a look of distaste at the suggestion.

It's clear she hasn't.

"Not that it's any business of yours, or mine, but, no, she _hasn't_ Harry," I state simply, looking up, barely recognizing Harry in his all encompassing fury. He takes a step forward and I find my own growl.

"Leave her alone, Harry."

I tighten my hold on Hermione as she burrows deeper into my side.

For a long time, I'd thought that all I'd wanted was this strong girl who is falling apart in my arms. But now that I am showered with attention from others, _not just Lavender_, I've discovered how much I truly treasure Hermione's unique brand of friendship.

I want her to feel _this_ way about me as well. I rather like being the one she turns to when she feels the way she does at times like these.

I'm also glad to know that, in her eyes, I've finally graduated from teaspoon to, at the very least, serving spoon in so far as my emotional range is concerned. I'd also like to think I can find my safety net in _her_ should our roles ever be reversed.

Harry's green eyes darken with resentment at the sight of us still clutching each other on the sofa.

"I wouldn't have my heart set on being with the likes of her in this way for too long, Ron," Harry gnashes out at me. His venomous words obviously aimed at a different target. "Seems _she's_ got quite a number of admirers she's stringing along. Wouldn't want _your_ heart to be ripped up and stomped on, as well!"

With his parting remark, he slams his way into the boys' dormitory.

_Well, he's at least answered one of my questions._ I sigh, and settle further into the cushions, my arm loosening, but still encircling Hermione.

"It's OK," I croon as she starts on a new bout of eerily silent weeping. "I understand why you're so upset, Hermione." My voice catches. "I promise, it's going to be OK." I choke these words out as I see her tear-filled eyes search my face.

She works to stem the leaking beneath her lids and places her cheek against mine. I hear her belaboured breathing as her hand comes up to rest on the other side of my face.

"Thank you, Ron," she breathes into my ear when she at last finds her voice. I feel her finally relax into me.

We stay like this for quite a while, discovering in each other the comfort of a friendship that needs no words.

* * *

_**Roaming the halls, pretending to be a prefect  
POV: Draco**_

* * *

How I managed enough self-control to stride away from Potter and McLaggen without cursing them is still beyond me.

After Granger's unexpected outburst, I focused solely on the words she'd spat out. No, not the ones she'd shouted in her anger, but those nearly sobbed in bitter sadness. I don't know why these are the ones I can't seem to forget.

_"__It's becoming ever more clear that no one really knows the true me…" _she'd cried. _"The only one who can take care of me... is ME!!"_ her tone so personally familiar it made my heart ache to remember it.

Why did _she_ feel so alone, when so many cared for her?

Even though merely Muggle, _she_ had an intact family at home, didn't she?

Her friends, though insufferable Gryffindors, adored her… to the point of over-protection in Potty's case. Her professors, even _Snape_, watched out for her!

She shouldn't feel as though she was solely responsible for her own care. Her father wasn't in the most feared prison of Wizarding England! Her friends didn't try to do nefarious things to her while she slept in her bed. She didn't have an aunt who would sell her down the river if it could get her closer to the most vile being to have ever walked the face of the earth.

_Her_ life wasn't being threatened by that very same fearsome man turned evil creature of the dark.

Why did _she_ feel so alone?!

I shake off the dark thoughts, thinking again of Granger blanching at the sight of the accidental appearances of the names in the book. Why would she react so violently to the names that told her the history of that smiling blonde girl in the picture? Isn't this exactly what she'd been so desperate to discover?

I stop to take in my surroundings. It's a good thing I have the right as prefect to wander the halls after curfew.

It is late.

The hallway is dark and deserted on the sixth floor. I pick a window ledge, similar to the one that had me bumping into the Ravenclaw girl on that day Granger fainted and sullied my robes. I sit down, my senses heightened to pick up any sort of sound that might indicate I am not alone. At this time of night, however, it seems precious little will likely interrupt my study of another part of the Slytherin family tree.

Looking left, then right, and seeing that all is clear, I settle back against the wall, propping the book on my bent knees. I stare at the book in my hands. Curiosity overtakes me and I open to the newly blank sheet.

Earlier, after a few failed attempts at throwing parchment rolling charms on the page containing the lengthy Slytherin tree, I'd discovered that all I needed to do to end the enchantment was to simply close the cover of the book. So, I am confident that I can cover my activities fairly quickly if the Guant tree stays within the bounds of the cover, or at the very longest, lands onto my lap.

Tapping my wandtip four times on the top line, I whisper, _"I deeply desire to see…_ _one particular family tree."_ A tree emerges on the page of parchment.

Tapping the top branch of the tree that appears I say softly,

"Book of Wizarding Family Trees, show me the lineage of Gaunt, please."

I didn't known which ancestor to start with at the top, but it doesn't seem to matter. The tree branches above the names I do recognize are a tangled mess as little serpents and even the coiling vines, too numerous to count, slide to other golden names that have fully revealed themselves on the parchment.

I gag at the sight of it.

Seems the jokes about pureblood in-breeding have more than a grain of truth to them. I wonder idly what would happen if I asked for the Malfoy tree, if serpents would also slither to and fro, but I decide against looking too closely at my father's side of the family. Perhaps there is such a thing as knowing _too_ _much_ for one's own good.

I spy the names Marvolo and Merope at the bottom. I don't bother to uncover Merope's Muggle husband's name, leaving that part of the tree blank and untouched. This time, my interests lie in her brother, Morfin. I place my wand on the snake curled around his name. I speak the woman's name I'd already seen tonight.

_"Sengue, Miranda."_

It appears_,_ as it did before, and the tiny writhing serpent on the parchment goes to grab onto it. Below them, the name_ Catherine Senguis neè Sengue has _a little golden leaf clinging tightly to the "C". I wonder at the name change, but realize it is of little importance.

I carefully place my wand atop this leaf and say, "Mustelidae, Aiden."

I expect his name to appear besides that of Catherine. Instead, it appears _below_ the golden leaf, while the space next to hers remains conspicuously empty. I keep my wand on the leaf and say only the surname, Mustelidae.

_Nothing._

Not pureblood, then.

By now, Aiden's name has turned silver.

"_Her_ husband is either a Muggle or a half-blood squib. And Aiden is her _son_," I breathe softly, clarifying these things for myself by speaking them aloud. I watch as another name intertwines with Aiden's. "He's a half-blood and he married a pureblood named…"

_Caroline Mustelidae nèe Geonicy._

It's as golden and as gleaming as Morfin's name.

I watch the golden leaf between the two names, produce an offshoot vine that grabs hold of Caroline's name. I notice a different mark appear below the couple's joined names, a sort of twig-like curiosity, not leafy or coiling like the rest. I wonder at it before placing my wand against the leafless crooked branch. I speak the name I've etched in my memory.

_Mustelidae, Emmanuelle Senguis _

And there it is… and black it remains. A squib registered with the Ministry, is my guess, as magic-less as her grand-uncle, Tom Riddle Sr., and with the Muggle-tainted blood of her grandfather.

I take a closer look at the family tree, tracing the twisting snakes across the page with my finger. It now looks like a tight maze of writhing snakes criss-crossing and coiling around one another between all of the names. I swallow at the disgusting sight of it. Incredulously, due to all the inbreeding, the tree in front of me is so short it only strays a few centimeters away from the bottom edge of the book cover. I look at Caroline's name and find one small snake that hasn't unfurled itself to reach out to find another name on the parchment. I wonder if Caroline's lover is from _her_ own pureblood family. Since _her_ offspring with her par amour is clearly not a Slytherin heir, I have no immediate need, nor aching desire to uncover this new mystery.

I close the book and tilt the back of my head up against the wall behind me. I turn my gaze to my left to look over the lake and out onto the moon, which is hiding behind trailing, cloudy fingers. The dark inky sky reminds me of the Dark Mark I am expected to take soon. I wonder idily if there is some way, _any_ way, to keep from reaching that particularly gruesome milestone.

My mind wanders to the glowing orb with the prophecy hidden under my pillow.

_Perhaps there is_.

It appears that Emmanuelle may yet be my saving grace.

I let out a sigh.

I find myself surprisingly distressed at having to involve Granger. I am unused to this feeling of being responsible for the well-being of another, unless the other person is my mother, of course. This pang in my chest has been recurring since allowing Granger under my skin. Now under my current scrutiny, I feel this yet unnamed, uncomfortable emotion turn into resentment and unhappiness. I feel it fester to become full-blown anger, much like the fury I'd felt when first seeing the tears welling in her eyes earlier when she'd screamed her displeasure at both Potty and myself in the corridor.

In my head, I turn this anger onto Granger. Had it not been for her involvement in my life, I would _never_ have allowed myself to feel... _this. _

I _never_ feel _this_ over _anything_ I do! I, in fact, pride myself upon having no heart. No conscience. Nothing as weak as _guilt_. Ever. I've spent many years cultivating this reputation. The traits of cunning, practicality, and being without emotion in both our decisions and is very nearly a Malfoy birthright.

But _her_ one whisper, telling me that perhaps I might possess a heart, that I was better for it, no matter how miniscule it might be, is enough to turn me into this blubbering fool.

Infuriating!

Little meddling witch.

And now…

I _feel_…

And it makes me angry.

Yet, I am also satisfied to have successfully completed the task set before me by my father. He may, at last, be pleased with me.

All I have to do is convince Granger that I need to meet the squib.

_Funny how life twists itself to make such dastardly, humorless jokes. _

I think of the legendary Gryffindor Know-It-All and let out a frustrated huff.

_Stubborn girl._

_Too smart for her own good._

_Loyal to a fault._

I try to imagine Granger handing her little half-blood squib friend over to the likes of me. After a few minutes, I put a stop to such a ridiculous effort by shutting my eyes and shaking my head. My fingers thread through my hair, gently massaging my scalp to ease the pounding that began with my inability to visualize such a thing _ever_ happening.

_Bugger!_

It appears the true task still lies before me.

* * *

_**Ruminations in my room  
POV: Hermione**_

* * *

I'd managed to avoid both Harry and Malfoy for three days. Everything I would have been pouring over in the presence of the Slytherin has been on temporary hold while I try to reign in my temper and sort through the confusion in my head. Both prats seem bright enough to catch on to the fact that they'd do well to stay out of my way for a while.

The arrogant Cormac is a completely different story, however. The boy has no concept of anything, or anyone, but his egotistical self. In some ways, he is far worse than Malfoy. At least _that_ git had _some_ manners and _some_ intellect to go with his disturbingly attractive self. McLaggen, on the other hand, exhibits the worst aspects of Gryffindor traits. He is aggressive and self-obsessed. His latest pranks are more foolhardy than brave. I doubt he even knows how to be self-sacrificing.

But he _is_ handsome, I have to give him that, and he also serves the double purpose of driving Harry _and_ Malfoy incredibly insane with anger and I've come to realize… jealousy, at least from Harry, to be sure. I still wonder about Malfoy. Whatever the feeling Cormac unveils, it's unpleasant enough for both of them, and because of this, I'm willing to sacrifice one night of my life with the Gryffindor boor to ensure those two self-important males feel more miserable than I do, even if it's only for a couple of hours.

Since I didn't want Ron to be upset as well, I'd admitted all of this to him, _this_ being the sole reason I agreed to go with McLaggen. He surprised me by laughing and confessing his initial reasons for allowing himself to be drawn into a relationship of sorts with Lavender. He sheepishly confessed it all to me that night when he'd been my only lifeline, the arms that held me and pulled me back together again after I allowed myself to finally break apart and let myself be tumbled about in the stormy sea of confusion and self-doubt. As he admitted his puppy love crush on me, I started to look at him differently, particularly because I'd just tearfully confessed to kissing Harry.

He didn't look the least bit surprised at my news about Harry and the mistletoe, a bit bothered, but _not_ surprised.

"Did you want to be kissing me, too, Ron?" I'd whispered like an idiot after he told me he thought he'd been in love with me for half his life.

He smiled lazily.

"Hermione, I would have jumped at the chance last month, but…" he slid his eyes to meet my gaze, a playful smile on his lips, his tone light and teasing. "You know, I've just been informed that you've been pretty busy with Krum, Harry, and who knows _what_ with Malfoy. I've only kissed _one_ girl and I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to compete with _that_ lineup."

I'd shot up to sitting at his mild joking, swatting at his arm. "Ron! I _never_ kissed Viktor! Besides you've kissed Lav-Lav lots more! I'm sure you'd…"

"Hermione!" he'd sat up, too, softly returning my swat and saying in feigned outrage, "What are you saying about my ability to stay true to my clingy new sweetheart?!"

Considering we'd just been lying in one another's arms for the better part of two hours, I start chuckling at his fake protestations of complete innocence. We laughed quietly together then, and as we calmed he said, "Look, Hermione, for all intensive purposes, Lavender is my girlfriend now and as tempting as your proposition is, I rather like you and me the way we are. Lavender and me… well, that's another thing altogether..."

I'd hugged him after he said that and started crying out of joy and relief. Once the tears were shed and the hiccuping breaths ended, Ron and I had a nice heart to heart and I was pleased to know that he trusted me implicitly. I told him quietly that there wasn't a doubt in my mind that I'd turn to him first if I needed his help with Malfoy… or Cormac… or even Harry.

Ron seems incredibly happy that I'd assured him of this.

Even though Ron doesn't know the half of my problems this year, having him through this is an unexpected comfort. Usually, he and I are the ones at each other's throats. But with our shared dismay at our respective, ridiculous pairings with the likes of Cormac and Lavender, we've discovered something new to laugh about together. Things have thankfully eased between us. With all my worries, it is good to have a friend like Ron who welcomes me into his arms when I need sympathy, without him demanding I explain _everything_. In fact, it seems he rather likes it when he can be the quiet, stronger one, while I find myself without the need for incessant talk. Ron seems very contented that he can offer me help in his own way.

Admittedly, I'd only used him as refuge that _one_ night. Lavender is quite territorial, and being female, I somewhat understand the invisible boundaries and work to respect them. I even volunteered to go with her and Pavarti to a Hogsmeade shoppe to help her purchase Ron's Christmas present. I'd tried to warn Lavender against the sweetheart necklace, telling her how it would be the very last thing Ron would want, but she spitefully informed me that I was jealous that she'd thought to give it to him first.

Not needing any more enemies, I left it alone, figuring it would be best to let her get Ron _whatever_ she wanted. It will sure be amusing to see his face when he unwraps it. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be seeing it firsthand. You see, Ron wants me to go to the Burrow for the holidays, but as Harry will be there, I refused the invitation.

I've decided to stay at Hogwarts. There is still the cabinet to fix, after all, and I'm simply not ready to go back to Muggle England to face the realities of home.

In any case, this _little_ sacrifice seems to have softened Lavender's attitude toward me. She's here now, fixing my makeup for Slughorn's party tonight. Pavarti and Lavender are extremely excited about giving me a magical makeover. I try to bite back my displeasure at their handling of my hair as they tug at the tangles. I know they'll make me look presentable. After all, it was through their glamour charms that I looked the way I did for the Yule Ball. I try not to listen to their twittering, pasting a placid smile on my face and following their directions to do things like hold my head in a certain way and look up, or look down as they applied the makeup with their special enchanted cosmetic brushes and tools. It's all quite ridiculous, but I suffer through, if only just for tonight.

I don't look forward to the evening. My avoidance of Harry and Malfoy leaves me in the dark as to whether either, or both, will even be in attendance. As I finally make my way to the common room, I see Ron below, talking to Ginny who can't seem to look me in the eye. Ron, however, is giving me the silent equivalent of a thumbs up sign. I catch sight of Harry, all dressed up, staring up at me, too, a glazed look on his face, as though he'd forgotten that I clean up well. In front of him is McLaggen, looking far too pleased with himself, holding a liquor bottle and a bag of what looks like candied fruit.

_My date's a brown noser, too! How delightful!_

I force a smile and try to glide down the staircase. I purposely avoid eye-contact with Harry as I link arms with Cormac, and send a wave to Ron, Lavender, and Pavarti.

"Have fun!" is all I hear from the remaining trio as the portrait of the Fat Lady swings closed behind us.

We've only taken ten steps away from our dormitory when I have the horrifying realization that I have absolutely nothing to say to Cormac. I try desperately to come up with something before he starts talking to me about himself and how dashing his suit looks against the color of my dress. I struggle with coming up with a topic that sort of involves him but steers away from anything involving his clothes or Quidditch. He's already started telling me about his tenth spectular save as a Second Year player on the Gryffindor team.

I grit my teeth.

"So, Cormac," I start after several throat clearing, _ahems_. I find myself staring at his hands, full of gifts. "What have you got there?"

"Oh this? It's Slughorn's favorite, candied pineapples and a really expensive bottle of mead."

I am mildly impressed that he went to the trouble of discovering the professor's favorites.

"Where did you get the liquor?" I ask, recognizing the bottle as one of Madame Rosemerta's. "I mean, how were you able to purchase it, aren't you underage?"

"This?" he queries, lifting the clear glass bottle up to the torchlight. It's previously jaunty-looking bow looking a bit crushed. "I won it by accomplishing a dare. But I can carry the likes of it, drink it even. I am of age, Hermione." His eyes dance wickedly and I dare not ask any more. Besides his obvious intentions toward me, I have a sinking feeling I wouldn't like the real answer of how he got his hands on the bottle even in if I did manage to sort the truth from his exaggerated boasts.

Cormac starts discussing his more recently imagined claims to fame and I tune him out, keeping tomy unconsciously habitual monitoring of the halls. I think I see platinum blond on the level above us as we move toward the open stairwell. I also see Harry making his way to Slughorn's door with an ethereal Luna on his arm.

"Hermione, we're here," Cormac says none to softly, his hand tugging on mine. "Ready for our grand entrance?"

I grown inwardly as I nod my head. He pushes open the slightly ajar door and we are greeted by the sight of a party already in full swing. Professor Slughorn is no where to be seen. I catch Harry's eye for a moment before surveying the rest of the room for a friendlier face. I see Luna beside him looking just as out of place as I feel. I make note to stand by her side whenever her date is gone.

"I wonder where Slughorn is?" Cormac says distractedly, head whipping around in search of his quarry.

"Why don't you go find him and I'll get us some drinks?" I suggest with a fake smile.

"That sounds splendid, Hermione! I'll find you once I hand these off to Slughorn."

I nod and watch him go off on his search. I heave a sigh of relief to be freed of him for a moment. I sneak another look toward Harry whose eyes are riveted to the door.

I turn to look in the direction of his gaze and find myself staring at an triumphant Filch with a struggling, outraged Malfoy in his grip.

Lifting my hand to my mouth in dismay, I watch a smirk of satisfaction slide across Harry's face at the sight before us. I imagine he's hoping that Draco will be severely punished for whatever Filch caught him doing. I see Harry's smirk turn into a scowl as the unexpected occurs. Although I am still miffed at the Slytherin, I smile softly at hearing Professor Slughorn magnanimously offer Malfoy an invitation to join the party. As I head to the table to gather a couple of drinks, I pass the blond, who sauntered in as soon as he shook himself free of Filch's hand.

"Granger," he says in greeting, but also a question, it seems, as his head is inclined toward me.

It is the first word between is in days. I say nothing, but stare at him. He looks a tad remorseful, I realize. I soften my gaze.

"What is it Malfoy?"

"I'd been hoping to see you."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, Granger."

"Why?"

"We need to talk."

"Now?"

He scoffs and shakes his head. I spy Harry's approach from the corner of my eye.

"Tell me when and where by owl, then," I say quickly. He nods and seems to spot Cormac as soon as I do. He frowns as he watches my date hand off the host gifts he'd brought to Professor Slughorn.

"Tell me you were with that git when he bought those things for Slughorn," Malfoy whispers darkly, for my ears alone.

"No," I reply quickly, curious, but all the while nervous as Harry draws nearer. "Cormac said he'd won them in some sort of wager."

"I see," I watch his eyes flash in irritation. But before I can ask Malfoy exactly _what_ he sees, Harry is behind me, facing the sneering blond. I look around in a desperate attempt to locate Luna who I eventually discover talking to Professor Trelawney. It appears as though there's to be no luck in getting distracting wrackspurt and nargle talk to diffuse this situation.

I turn my back to Malfoy and slowly tilt my head up to meet Harry's eyes with a narrowed glare.

It is _Harry_ who I hold the most spite for, after all. I can't believe he's going to try to duplicate the same horror of the other night here at a Christmas party!

"You've been avoiding me, Hermione."

I can almost feel the tiniest change in air pattern at my back as I imagine Malfoy arching an eyebrow.

I don't speak. At my silence, Harry looks like he's going to pitch a fit and I can sense the amusement rolling off of Malfoy in tsunami sized waves at Harry's obvious discomfort.

Harry spares Malfoy a disdainful glance, but carries on as though I'd acknowledged he was speaking to me. I turn my face to avoid eye-contact, but my ears perk, continuing to listen to what my best friend has to say. From the corner of my eye, I can see the Ferret has no intention of leaving. I hope he keeps his trap shut through this, because I actually want to hear Harry grovel for my forgiveness.


	15. Speak No Evil

**Speak No Evil**

* * *

**_Silenced  
POV. Draco_**

* * *

Potter's fingers close over Granger's elbow as he eyes me suspiciously. I keep my own sights trained on the tightening of his fingers on her bare skin. It sets my teeth on edge, knowing that as her longtime friend, regardless how bad the row, Potty has the right to reach out and touch her this way.

I find myself waiting for Granger to pull away.

She doesn't, though, and the tension is thick.

"Hermione, I'd like to speak to you," The Bespectacled One casts a wayward glance my way, "... _alone_."

Granger hasn't looked at Potter directly, yet. I can still view her face in profile. Her lips tighten. She casts a stray, momentary look my way. There's no silent message in it. For reasons I have yet to determine, I stay rooted to my spot. So long as Granger doesn't move, I feel no need, or desire, to make myself scarce. This unusual discomfort between _these_ two Gryffindors is far too intriguing. What's even more interesting is realizing that somehow I am the cause of all the upheaval.

"Leave, Malfoy," Potty snarls. I slit my eyes.

_Well, that does it!_

_I'm staying!_

Before I can voice my snide reply, Granger icily cuts in.

"Why don't you just say what you have to say, Harry? Or don't you remember? It doesn't matter to _me _who is in the audience." Her voice drips with sarcasm. She turns to fully face Potter at this point, adding sharply, "If memory serves, you seem to believe I don't mind having _him_ watch. Perhaps, as you've claimed, whatever you've got to tell me will serve a greater academic purpose. So, by all means, proceed."

_I send an appreciative, silent "Huzzah!" toward the bookworm's corner._

_Granger, one._

_Potter, zero._

I delight in witnessing The Boy Who Royally Pissed Off His Best Friend squirm and wince at Granger's indelicate reminder of his out-of-bounds remark that made her out to be nothing more than a common, even shameless, tart.

To my utter dismay, Potty appears sincerely repentant.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he whispers, as if to hide from me his pitiful apology.

_I roll my eyes skyward._

Potter glances toward me again, sizes up the situation, and gathers some of that legendary Gryffindork courage to speak his next words.

I, frankly, don't envy his position.

"Hermione, I was wrong to jump to conclusions about you and that..." he looks over her shoulder at me. Granger must have done something to silently show her displeasure because he quickly amends whatever epithet he was going to use and instead says, "about you and... Malfoy."

Shocked by the tremor of jealousy in his voice, I now feel compelled to crow about it. So, I clear my throat ready to interrupt this characteristic outpouring of Potter's ever-overflowing emotions. But as soon as I've finished my loud _a-hem_, I feel the familiar muting sensation of a non-verbal silencing charm shimmer over me. Caught completely off-guard, I whip my head about to discover the identity of the spell's caster, only to discover I am staring at the back of the culprit's head. My roaming gaze settles on Granger's hand, surreptitiously holding the handle of her vine wood wand against her right thigh. Its tip points directly at me.

_Damn!_

I watch her cast the Muffliato spell at Potter as she whips around to face me, her wand is discreetly aimed at an area of my body I instinctively move to protect. Though frustrated at my sudden inability to verbally communicate, I stand my ground and stare her down.

"_You_ are _not_ to speak," she commands, meeting my silent, infuriated stare. "I've grown tired of your lack of remorse for your role in this mess, Malfoy. Since you clearly would worsen this situation if given the opportunity, I've made it so you can't open that foul mouth of yours, at least not until my Silencio wears off. Do note, however, I have _not_ made you immobile. Therefore, Ferret, it's your choice whether you stay or go. I sincerely don't care either way."

With that, she turns her back to me once again, lifting the Muffliato off of Potter, who looks as frustrated as I feel.

"What did you say to him, Hermione?"

"It's none of your concern, Harry. I simply needed to inform... _him_," she waves her hand behind herself, toward me. "of something. Do continue."

_Bossy witch!_

Potter hasn't stopped glaring at me, seemingly unaware I've been muted. I settle myself against the wall, leaning away and crossing my arms. I imagine I must appear as though I've pulled out of their conversation, but I've managed, still, to keep them both within earshot.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he says softly, edging closer to her. I feel my temper rise with each centimeter he closes between them.

I hear a relieved breath softly explode from her previously scowling lips. I watch angrily as she appears to be holding back some water-producing emotion. I don't understand why tears coming from Granger threaten to enrage me, but they do, and I don't appreciate that Potter is the cause of them.

I feel my lips curl into a snarl.

_For Merlin's sake, Granger! Have some dignity! Don't let him get away with this so easily! Words. That's all he's offered._

"I shouldn't have let my temper get the better of me. I was wrong, Hermione, to say such hurtful things to you, when I should have directed my anger to its rightful place," Potter then has the audacity to stare boldly at me.

This is the first time I am of the mind that it might, perhaps, be useful to know one, or two, rude Muggle gestures that would silently, but effectively articulate what I think Potter should go do with himself. But alas, I can only settle on a sneer.

"There's been a lot on my mind, Hermione, but thanks to Ron," Potter, _The Repentant One, _looks slightly uncomfortable at the mention of their redheaded friend, particularly in my close proximity, "Well, he gave me a talking to. He helped me understand that I've been a complete git to assume such terrible things about you. I should trust you and your judgements, _even about the ferret_. You've never been wrong before, Hermione. It's good for me to be reminded of that."

At the mention of the Weasel and the sight of Potty's annoyingly sheepish smile, Granger visibly relaxes.

I groan inwardly.

"It's been awful not being able to talk to you, to discuss our thoughts and each other's days. I miss you terribly, Hermione," he says softly, peering down at her and grabbing her hand. I don't like the visual he leaves me with, one of the two of them chatting, all cozied up to one another.

I'm already pinching myself in the crook of my elbow and crossing my ankles to purposely stop myself from stomping over there to grab her away from him.

"I can't live with the idea that I've pushed you away. I need you in my life, Hermione. You're too important and special for me not to risk the embarrassment of this. Even if it's only for the _possibility_ of you accepting me back into your life again. I'm not above admitting to you ... in front of _him," _Potter sends me a scathing look, "that I am the one at fault for hurting you. This has been _all_ my fault. Please, Hermione, forgive me. I'm so truly sorry for hurting you."

_Effective, Potter, I must admit, but having to resort to begging!? Pathetic!_

I try in vain to scoff, to make _any_ sort of disgruntled sound, but I'm still unable to let out the smallest peep. To my even greater disgust, the _other_ Gryffindor, Granger's _date_, approaches the duo of the Golden Trio and I unhappily watch Potter escort her to the dance floor.

I had noticed Granger frantically tugging at Potty's hand at her date's approach, though. This leaves me with the cold comfort of imagining her turning to Potter in a desperate measure to avoid getting groped by McLaggen.

I wonder, again, at how the Gryffindor brawn with little brain was able to remove the liquor bottle from my trunk.

_Blasted, interfering, Gryffindors!_

Now, I have to find a way to either retrieve the bottle from Slughorn, or somehow persuade him to give it to Dumbledore.

My scowling, morose stance does not escape the sharp eyes of my godfather who is currently whisking his robes my way, momentarily blocking Granger and Potter from my view. Losing sight of her increases my annoyance as Snape's large bat-like figure swiftly descends upon me.

"I'd like a word with you, Draco," Snape snaps, indicating the door.

Feeling the silencing spell beginning to lift, I gather myself up for this unexpected meeting and follow Snape's lead.

* * *

**_Ghostly Assistance  
POV: Hermione_**

* * *

I'd just left the very grabby Cormac under the mistletoe, pulling an unsuspecting Ravenclaw in my place under the offensive weed as he closed his eyes to gather a kiss. It occurred to me halfway down the corridor that it wouldn't do for me to show up in the Gryffindor dorms and risk a run-in with the date I'd just ditched. Neither should I appear in my room so early, otherwise I'd have to hash out the evening's disastrous events with my nosy roommates.

McLaggen's arms wouldn't have captured me had it not been for Harry. After his heartfelt, winning apology that had him back in my good graces, enough for me to warn him about Romilda Vane's attempt to poison him with a love potion, Harry might as well have dumped me at Cormac's feet in his haste to follow Snape and Malfoy out of Slughorn's party.

I knew I'd felt the Invisibility Cloak in his pocket!

I tried to pull him back, warning him not to follow, but he, none to gently, pushed me away, back onto the floor and into Cormac.

So here I am, fuming as I turn to head toward the one place I know no one will bother me. I pull open the door to Moaning Mrytle's bathroom with the sole intent to have a good temper tantrum. After checking to ensure privacy, I storm into one of the stalls, and throw myself against the side wall to bury my face in my hands.

"Have you turned yourself into a cat again?" Moaning Myrtle's eerie whisper is at my ear and I let out a small, surprised gasp. "Oh, no, not a fuzzy cat tonight! And you're not cooking up potions, either, but you_are_ crying! Just like me! And just like the poor boy with the icy blond hair! Poor boy! Poor you! Poor Myrtle! What have you got to cry about, Hermione? It better be good!"

I stop my sniffling instantly at the Myrtle's mention of the boy with ice-blond hair, and whip my face to meet her translucent glow.

"Do you mean, Malfoy? _Draco_ Malfoy has been in here, too?"

"That _might_ be him," she says with a funny, cryptic smile. "But let's talk about why _you_ are crying Hermione? I can't remember the last time you were in here blubbering in a toilet stall! Is it because of a boy?! Is it because of your friend... _Harry Potter_?"

I turn away from her, but she glides over to peer into my face.

"It IS because of Harry! You know, he is a terribly selfish boy! I cried after him, too, you see! I helped him with a task once. He was just fine with using me for my brain, that he was. But he didn't really care a whit about me!"

My eyes go round at her, drawing comparisons between the two of us too easily tonight.

"So, he stopped coming 'round," she pouts and glides away. "He stopped as soon as I kindly offered him a place to stay should he not complete his task! I was being nice and he snubbed me. Terribly selfish!" Her frown intensifies as she recalls the incident. "Oh! I know! He doesn't like me because I'm poor, pathetic_Moaning_ _Myrtle_. That's why he hasn't been coming to visit! AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Do try to calm down, Myrtle. I assure you, we've all been too busy with schoolwork to come by for a visit. I'm terribly sorry about that."

I have no idea why I continue to defend Harry. _Myrtle is right, he is being a selfish prat!_

"But isn't the blond boy in _your_ year? He comes to speak to me _all_ the time. He's awfully lonely and sad. And while he does have a lot of things to do, he told me he's having an extremely difficult time accomplishing the tasks he has in front of him."

"How often do you see this boy, Myrtle?" I ask, my problems temporarily forgotten in my curiosity to discover whether she is indeed talking about Malfoy.

"Oh very often, indeed! And he is quite handsome, much better looking than, Harry, I think... though I haven't seen _him_ without bubbles," she squeals, a pleased smile spreading across her face. "I suspect he might even come tonight!"

I send her a doubtful look, which she takes serious offense to.

"He does come! HE DOES!!" she shrieks. "I do have friends! I am better than the likes of you! After all, I'm not the one in here, alone, crying after a boy, am I?"

Astounded at her vehemence, I grow incredibly angry at her assumptions about me, ready to shout a retort. She turns to me too quickly, however, for me to formulate a proper reply.

"He _is_ a bit late, though," she starts to wail, a worried look etched into her ghostly features, her hand comes to her mouth. "He does come, you know! He's just a bit late! OHHHH NOOOOOOOO!!! He's beginning to hate me, too! Just like Harry Potter! Who cares about Myrtle? No one! NOOOOOOO!! NOOOOOOO!!"

"I care about you, Myrtle," I say comfortingly, trying to ease her turmoil. I'd forgotten how sensitive she is. "I'm sure he's just... you know, held up."

"You don't believe me!" she screams at me, throwing her hands up in the air, and moving in what can only be described as ghostly, agitated pacing. She finally stops moving to fold her arms in front of her chest and pout. "You don't believe I can actually have a friend!"

"I-"

The door creaking open interrupts us and Myrtle shoots me a triumphant look, sticking out her tongue at me before putting a finger to her now widely grinning mouth. She motions me over to the stall door, allowing me to peek out. I spy the only tall platinum blond gracing the halls of Hogwarts enter the bathroom. His face is ashen and my worry for him begins anew.

Myrtle mouths, "I told you so!" and pantomimes for me to stay quiet as she goes to speak to her new beau.

Stuck, I decide to follow her instructions, though I do feel a bit guilty at my eavesdropping.

He's hunched over, speaking as though to the sink's drain. "I don't know what it is, Myrtle, but I feel like I'm being watched, all of the time. Paranoia. It's a horrible thing."

My heart sinks, knowing that Malfoy is far too aware for his own good. I knew it! Even though he can't see him, Malfoy can _feel_ Harry's constant surveillance. I feel terribly bad for the additional stress this must place on him and promise myself to try to stop Harry.

"Tell me what's bothering you, Draco," Myrtle offers sweetly. "Maybe I can help."

After some time, a gasping sob comes from Malfoy. This desperate sound causes my heart leap to my throat.

"I don't want anyone involved in this more than they already are. Someone's bound to get hurt," he says between the heartbreaking sound of his whimpers. "I can't have people hurt because of my father's poor choices."

"But, you can let me help," Myrtle prompts. She appears to be holding back a wail as she utters words that surely must cost her, "I'm already dead! No one can hurt me."

I hear him expel a watery, appreciative laugh.

"I know Myrtle, and I offer you my eternal gratitude. You've been awfully good to listen to me."

Sneaking a peek at his downcast form, I can, from far across the room, see the full reflection of his face from where I am. Suddenly recalling my magical abilities, and my increased need for caution, I place myself under both a disillusionment and a silencing charm. Now safely undercover, I sympathetically watch Malfoy scrape the back of his hand against his face before he continues his stilted conversation with Myrtle.

"My godfather will die if I can't come up with a way to fix that cabinet. I've just come from telling him I didn't want his help. Merlin knows I need it, but I can't have him dead because of me! I had to convince Snape that I was too vain and too proud to give up any of the responsibility offered to me by that bastard, the dark lord. Snap'll be killed either way, I just know it. But, maybe if I take _this_ all on myself, I can save Snape from an early demise at that evil spawn's wand. What I haven't figured out is _how_ to get out of _this_without help..."

His words sound as if they are being tortured from him. I can feel my own empathetic tears pricking at the back of my eyelids.

"I'll be killed and my mother tortured if I can't do what Riddle wants me to do. And I can't let Granger get more involved than she already is... She has no idea the gargantuan mess Snape's involved her in with his insane extra credit project. And as if that wasn't already bad enough, it gets even worse, Myrtle! It's so much worse! It looks like I might have to involve Granger a little more than I want to..."

I put a hand in front of my mouth forgetting I'd Silencio'd myself.

"Do you like this girl... this, Granger?" Myrtle's pouty inquiry reminds me of Lavender. "Do you care for her?"

No answer from the ferret.

"I've called off Crabbe and Goyle, too, you know."

_Well, that's just grand! In Malfoy's eyes I am the equivalent of the two gormless oafs!_

"You're a good friend, Draco," Myrtle commends. "These are all hard decisions to make. It's quite courageous of you to put yourself in the line of fire like this."

Malfoy huffs his disagreement.

"I'm no hero, Myrtle. I'm just trying to survive. Besides, there's no need for them to continue taking polyjuice for the nights I try to fix the cabinet alone. If they get any more detentions because of me, I'm sure I'll no longer have _any_ allies in the Slytherin house."

There is silence for a long while as I hear Malfoy's ragged breathing and Myrtle crooning words of comfort.

"How can I make Granger understand that I don't want her to help anymore with the cabinet? It's just too dangerous! I can't tell her the truth!"

I watch his reflection in the mirror from the crack in the door. His eyes are widely searching the ghost girl's face for an answer.

"She probably wouldn't believe the truth if it came from me, anyway. Or, if by some miracle she did come to understand just how dangerous this all is, the stubborn twit will WANT to continue assisting!"

I scowl, realizing there is some truth to his statement.

"I know what it's like to be frantic and alone, Draco," Myrtle purrs from behind him. "Don't you think you should maybe tell another living soul about your troubles, if you won't let me help?"

"Snape wants to help. He'll die otherwise, you see. I doubt he'd care about my miserable life if he hadn't made that Unbreakable Vow with my mum. _He_ thinks I'm going to fail! S_he_ thinks I'm going to fail! _My own mother!_ Damn them both! And damn Voldemort! _No one_ thinks I can succeed in this!"

Malfoy's broken out into sobs again and I ache to comfort him.

"What if I die, Myrtle? Is death such a terrible thing? Is it as bad as I think it is?"

I'm glad I've spelled myself silent because I'm crying out to him now. No matter how awful he's been to me, I don't wish him dead! Myrtle voices the agony I feel. Her howls at his questions about death are earsplitting in the echo chamber that is her bathroom.

"What about Dumbledore? Can't you go and talk to him?" Myrtle suggests after she'd finally calmed. I silently praise her practical Muggle upbringing. In Muggle schools we learn to ask for help from reliable adults when we're in over our heads! Thank goodness Myrtle remembers and is sensible enough to suggest the obvious!

"You have no idea, Myrtle, how many times I've thought to do just that," Malfoy shamefully admits, his head bowed as he fights off wracking coughs and wipes away his sniffles. "But what would that accomplish? A death wish for my mother and myself, maybe? Can you even imagine what will happen to my father while in Azkaban if word gets out that his only son turned traitor?! Voldemort can cast the Dementors on him and my father can't summon a Patronus!"

"Turning to Dumbledore would keep you safe, I think, Draco," she quietly insists. "And I bet your mother and Professor Snape could also be offered asylum if you do speak to Dumbledore about what's being planned."

"But what about my father?" he says so wretchedly that my tears for him start afresh. I watch him stare blankly at himself in the mirror. "He would be so ashamed of me, Myrtle. I couldn't do that to him. He can't die believing that I thought so little of him as to turn my back on him. And I can't let him suffer whatever torture might befall him because of my choices. I can be stronger than what people expect of me, I think. I can do this for my family, even if I no longer believe in it. The Dark Lord is strong, Myrtle. Who he is and what he's capable of frightens me."

"I'm sorry, Draco, that you have to suffer so," weeps Myrtle, who looks like she, too, is desperate to reach out and offer him peace. "I really am."

"I know, Myrtle," Malfoy whispers softly as he turns to go, offering her a tiny smile as he makes his way out the door. "It makes me feel better that someone cares, even if you _are_ dead."

The door is out of my line of sight, I only hear the click and see Myrtle return to the stall I'm occupying. Her offended face fills my field of vision. She apparently had held back a terrorizing shriek of dismay at Malfoy's parting words. As soon as the high-pitched reverberating sound of her screams finally ebbs, Myrtle turns to stare me square in the eye.

"Hermione? Do you know this, Granger girl? Isn't that a fairly odd name? He's been talking this way about her for weeks now."

Just coming to the understanding that Myrtle doesn't known my last name, I mumble an unintelligible response, mentally excusing myself for the rudeness since my silencing charm hasn't completely worn off. As I attempt to avoid eye-to-eye contact, it occurs to me that Myrtle is a veritable font of information and it would be best to try to befriend her, so I purposefully turn back to face her.

"Why do you ask, Myrtle?"

"Oh, no reason, really," she says coyly gliding away. "It's just that Draco used to refer to this Granger girl only in anger, calling her a Mudblood... just like that horrid girl, Olive Hornby, used to call me. Horrid! I haunted her, you know. It was the best fun I'd ever had....But...."

"Yes?" I prompt, trying to quell the too enthusiastically quizzical note in my voice.

"I just can't help but wonder what this Granger person has done to change _his_ Pureblood mind about Muggle-bornes. Draco seems very concerned about her safety, now," she makes to scratch her head, which I think must have been a habit she had when she was alive. "At first, when he spoke about her it seemed he just wanted to throttle her. But he's changed his tune an awful lot since then. Well, you saw how he was... he was actually quite nice to me, and I'd told him I was of Muggle blood on the first night he came into this bathroom, so distraught. That was _months_ ago."

"I really wouldn't know what she's done to change his mind, Myrtle," I answer honestly, one of the very few truths that has left my mouth since coming back to Hogwarts.

She looks at me as though through a microscope, like she can't quite make out what I am.

"Aren't you Muggle-born, Hermione?" Myrtle inquires.

"As far as I know, I am," I say cryptically. "But, does it really matter, Myrtle?"

"No, not really, but I think you understand me better because you are. Besides, I think us magical Muggle girls ought to stick together."

I leave the bathroom holding onto the memory of one of Myrtle's rare, happy smiles.

* * *

I take my time making my way back to the Gryffindor common room, staying in the shadows to avoid any unwanted company. This gives me a great deal of time to think about what I'd witnessed in Myrtle's bathroom. It was shocking to discover this side of Malfoy, how he felt about his family... about me. I realize I hadn't honestly considered how he might feel until I watched him tonight, completely overcome with fear.

I know he didn't sport the Dark Mark. I'd seen him roll up his shirtsleeves enough times in the Room of Requirement to know that his skin on his forearms was still alabaster and unblemished. It, however, doesn't seem long before he'll be given that tattoo.

To see Malfoy so distraught about this was surprisingly comforting. Not that I wanted him to be so torn emotionally, but witnessing his breakdown allowed me see that there is some good in him. Having that glimmer now allows me to see that he isn't the completely cruel, heartless snake I'd always pegged him to be.

He wants to uphold his family name.

He wants to keep his mother safe.

He wants to keep his godfather, Professor Snape, safe.

He wants his father out of harm's way.

He wants to keep _me_ uninvolved due to some unspeakable danger.

Moreover, he doesn't want to do whatever evil deed he is being called to do, all the while knowing that if does accomplish this mysterious dark task, he could, in one fell swoop, be given all that he wants.

He'd just have to...

sell his soul...

to Voldemort, I suppose.

Such a sacrifice seems so untypically Malfoy, it gives me pause.

I begin to second guess all of my assumptions about him.

How much of his sneering, cruel persona is a farce? How much of it is real? How much is his mask, carefully hewn to hide the fear he possess over a terrible sense of misplaced duty and pride?

The Malfoy I'd been accidentally introduced to tonight is an unfamiliar young man, willing to sacrifice his life for his family, not for his father's beliefs, but for his own desire to protect his mother and the other people in his life... including... _me_.

What is most stunning, however, is how, after peeling back the layers, I am able to recognize that Malfoy and Harry have more in common than either one of them would ever care to admit.


	16. See No Evil

**See No Evil**

* * *

_**A mix of roles... Potions Class  
POV: Harry**_

* * *

"How did you know about the beozar, Potter?" he snarls menacingly at me, having somehow quietly backed me into a corner of the Potions classroom as we tidy up. I bare my teeth at Malfoy, pushing back against him with my hands and chest, warning him out of my personal space. My wand is at my worktable, and Ron's unable to meet my eyes, still trying not to retch over the monstrosity still bubbling in his cauldron. Hermione stopped looking at, and speaking to, me during class as soon as she caught sight of the textbook I still haven't managed to make myself get rid of.

The thing of it is, the Half-Blood Prince hadn't jotted down notes for today's lesson, which had been to come up with an antidote for most sorts of poisons. I'd been at a complete loss for most of the class, frantically searching through my usually reliable book, margins full of handwritten, scribbled notes. I'd only been able to seize onto one scrawled line just in the nick of time:

_Just shove a beozar down their throat._

Then in desperation, I spent the last portion of the class trying to locate a beozar in the back cabinet.

To be perfectly honest, for the last few months, it felt good to finally be praised in Potions class and to watch Malfoy, and even Hermione, both easily the best in class, fail at the cooking up potions that I'm now so easily able to mix with the help of my handy crib notes. There is some power found in making high marks and it's satisfying to gloat and sneer at the ferret as he'd done so many times to me. It's the first time I've been able to claim such high academic honor in Potions. It doesn't occur to me that what I'm doing might be considered cheating, and that even the likes of Neville Longbottom's hazardous concoctions are more honest efforts than my own perfectly mixed ones.

Today had been the last straw, I knew it. I knew it as soon as I opened my palm holding the beozar and as soon as I heard Professor Slughorn's hearty laugh at what he saw as my cleverness. Slughorn had pocketed the beozar and, now, as I watch him pack it away in his teacher's case, I know I am losing the respect of my closest friends because of my weakness for this previously unknown power, a power Hermione and Malfoy had in spades - _smarts_.

So, having relatively little academic prowess myself, I'd, in desperation, presented something that looked like a prune to Slughorn, instead of doing my work as the rest of the class had done. To top it all off, I was awarded additional points purely for cheek. I watched the justifiable anger rise in both Hermione and Malfoy standing at opposite ends of the room, both stained with whatever putrid liquid had escaped from their stews

So, yes, I understand why Malfoy is challenging me now, but that doesn't mean I like it.

"I read it in the text, Malfoy," I cast a disdainful glance at his potion-sullied robes. "just as easily as you could have... and it looks like you _didn't_."

"The instructions were to _mix a potion_, Potter, not pull a goat's stone from a jar," he whispers menacingly. "But why am I _not_ surprised you don't bother to follow proper protocol when you're given an easy opportunity to claim false personal glory?"

"You're one to talk, Malfoy. You buy your way into things all of the time."

"Hardly, c_hosen one,_" he scoffs, sarcastically drawing out the now all-too common moniker. "Following directions is what I do best. The rules simply happen to work in my favor. I'm able to play and win while staying within the parameters of the game. This, I suspect, is what annoys you so much about me. I don't need to disregard the rules because, frankly, it's unnecessary for me to do so. It's the same even for your friend, Granger, over there," he casually motions toward Hermione. "Neither of us have to cheat in order to pass our courses. She and I do our homework... And we both earn our just rewards." At his last few words, I register a barely noticeable sadness in his tone. His eyes reflect sorrow that I refuse to acknowledge seeing there.

"You've no idea what you're talking about, Ferret," I hiss angrily, focusing on the offense of him bringing her up in the conversation. "Hermione bends the rules when it's necessary."

"When it's necessary, _really_?" his voice is arrogant, condescending, "Oh, I understand, now. Granger justifies going against status quo for things like... O_h, let's se_e... Perhaps when it comes to protecting her friends? I'm sure she breaks rules in order to so generously allow you to use her brilliance to fight _your_ cause? How about disregarding, even fighting against old wizarding traditions for the questionable rights of house-elves? You mean like _those _times, Potter?"

I'm startled by Malfoy's pointed questions, it appears he knows a lot about Hermione and may even _admire_ her for the causes she's chosen to uphold. Dumbfounded, I let out a stuttered, "Y-yes."

While he speaks, Malfoy's head is in the cabinet and his face hidden from me by the door he holds open.

"Hmmm, I can see how bending the rules today, just as you did now, is quite comparable to the reasons Granger has for disregarding rules and directions. Come to think of it, Potter, she looks quite pleased with your selfless innovation."

I spare a quick glance over to her side of the room and find Hermione's fine features screwed in anger at me as Malfoy appears to have just innocently finished putting a bottle away.

Before leaving for his table the ferret throws a glance my way. There is just a touch of a loathsome sneer forming on his lips as he turns away.

For the first time ever in Malfoy's presence, I feel I deserve his utter disregard... that _this time,_ he is in the right of things.

* * *

_**In the library stacks after class  
POV: Hermione**_

* * *

"Why do you keep looking at me, Granger?"

I whip my gaze back down onto my blank parchment.

For the past few weeks, I've suspected that Malfoy's been sabotaging our combined efforts to fix the blasted cabinet. I can't fathom why he might want to keep it from working properly, but I also don't think he'll take kindly to my accusations or questioning about it.

I'd been contemplating confronting him today, but hesitate considering how awful he looks tonight. I hadn't even realized that I'd been staring until Malfoy caught me looking. I am worried, have been since spying on him in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It isn't difficult to imagine he's had less sleep than me. I am able to see straight through the glamour charm that he's using to hide the incredibly dark half circles beneath his eyes. They are ones I imagine must mirror mine.

While thoughts of my non-Muggle heritage is enough to keep me up at night, it hardly compares to the shock of learning that I might very well be a long lost descendent of Salazar Slytherin, the niece of the vilest being known to walk the wizarding world. I'm in such denial that I refuse every opportunity to look at the Book of Wizarding Family Trees, even though there have been several times that Malfoy's offered to let me look at it in the library and the Room of Requirement.

My current excuse to avoid looking in the book is that Malfoy will undoubtedly be staring over my shoulder as I conduct the investigation into my biological past.

"You look like you haven't been sleeping, Malfoy," I say trying for apathetic, but turning to concern as soon as I look up to stare him squarely in the eye. "Or eating for that matter."

"You sound like my mother, Granger."

"Well," I gulp, now avoiding eye contact because his silvery orbs threaten to stare me right into the ground, "Are we _right_?... Your mother and I, I mean?"

I spy him looking as if he is about to offer me a sharp retort, but then, he seems to think better of it and offers me a wan smile instead.

"I haven't been sleeping, perhaps I've lost my appetite because of it. I suppose you know something about that," he sighs, wearily running his hand against his face before studying me again. "You've been sleeping a lot when we're together, Granger, here in the library. Which means you haven't been resting properly, either. Even if that's all you're getting, that's more sleep than I've had in months."

I nod, then look across the table at him. In a soft whisper I ask, "why?"

He looks at me, then pulls his gaze away to stare at the quill he's twirling in his hand. He carefully places it down, alongside his parchment and eases back into his chair. He steeples his fingertips together and stares at his hands. I watch him curiously. He looks like he's having an internal shouting match with himself. Beneath his blond fringe, his forehead is furrowed and he's pressing his fingertips together so they are white at the tips. It seems he places the most opposing force at his thumbs. Interestingly enough, the rest of him looks absolutely languid, almost arrogantly so. I wonder at this posture, resolute to try it in the privacy of my own room later, just to see what it feels like.

"For whatever reason," Malfoy replies, with careful nonchalance, "_you_ seem to trust _me_ enough to allow you undisturbed rest when you are _resting your eyes_."

I know he understands exactly what I'd meant by my question, that I'd been asking after him and his health. But for whatever reason, Malfoy decided against answering honestly. I notice his hands are lax on the worktable again, laying lightly against his schoolwork.

"You _did_ take an oath to protect me, Malfoy, if I recall," I state, staring at my own quill. His eyes are on me... unreadable. I sigh and reluctantly admit, "I suppose I allow myself to be vulnerable in your presence because I trust you won't hurt me in my slumber."

I hear him shifting as I hastily add, "Thank you for not asking me any questions about what's been keeping me up at night, Malfoy. In retrospect, I should offer you the same courtesy."

He appears extremely uncomfortable when I dare to look at him again.

"You do realize, Malfoy, I took that same oath," I say with kindness in my voice. "... to protect _you_, too, I mean. You could... ahhhh.... _rest your eyes_, while I stay up this time."

"Why?" He seems genuinely puzzled.

"I need to study anyway," I shrug, hoping he can't detect the flutter of nerves in my voice. "We're here. You look like you need sleep... and..."

"... and you're a bloody interfering Gryffindor," he adds quietly, almost teasingly.

"Yes, I suppose so," I nod, with a close-lipped smile.

He seems to consider my offer. As he does, I go back to pretending to study my Arithmancy. From the corner of my eye, I watch him carefully settle his books around him, like a little blockade.

I think randomly of what he might have been like as a mischievous little boy with his playmates, maybe making something similar in banks of snow before a snowball fight, or with his toys at home, preparing for a make-believe battle. I hear him clear his throat and I look up.

From over his little half-wall, a familiar book appears.

"Why don't you have a look, then," Malfoy's bodiless voice says. His offer is soft, faltering, as if he's already prepared to doze off as I lift the book from his hand. "I think I will _rest my eyes_, Granger."

"Tha-"

"Don't thank me, Bookworm. I owe you," his breath is starting to sound as it did in the Room of Requirement when he so rudely drifted off to sleep during my mini-tirade. "I don't like being in your debt, Granger. Take a look at it, in relative privacy, and then we're square."

I look over to him and find myself staring at his tower of Sixtth Year advanced textbooks with only part of the top of his blond head buried in his arms visible behind it. I sigh, and pile my own books up next to his, completely ensconcing him in a makeshift fort of bindings and parchment pages.

Running my fingers across the cover of the Malfoy's magical book, I think about the family tree I'd most like to see. I carefully open the page to a blank sheet of paper, grabbing up my wand. I look around me to discover I am quite alone in the downstairs library stacks. There's no sound other than the pounding of my own beating heart and the soft rise and fall of Malfoy's breath.

I place the tip of my wand at the barely visible line and repeat Malfoy's words, ones he used in the Room of Requirement.

_"I deeply desire to see…_

_one particular family tree."_

A beautiful small tree unfurls on the parchment and fades to lie in background, beckoning me to continue. I oblige.

_"Book of Wizarding Family Trees, show me the lineage of Aiden Mustelidae, please."_

I don't know what to expect, really. A blank tree, save one gleaming, golden name isn't exactly what I thought might appear: _Caroline Mustelidae nèe Geonicy. _Next to it is the name I'd spoken, Aiden Mustelidae is carefully drawn by an invisible hand.

I watch the golden leaf between them, produce an offshoot vine that grabs hold of both names. I notice a different mark appear below the couple's joined names, a sort of twig-like curiosity, not coiling. I wonder at it before placing my wand against the leafless crooked branch. I speak the name I've tried so hard to release from my memory, the name that has turned my whole world upside down.

_Mustelidae, Emmanuelle Senguis_

And there it is… and black it remains.

A glimmering water droplet suddenly falls on the page, surprising me as it shimmers against the M in this girl's surname.

Tears.

My own, flowing down my face.

Tears of hope? Maybe that this has been some terrible mistake? Is she a Muggle? As muggle as the parents I've only known?

Relief, perhaps?! That maybe Emmanuel is their daughter, after all?! Perhaps she is really a squib, the Mustelidae's own daughter, registered with the Ministry?

Which would mean that I am... I am... _the_ Hermione _Granger_ as I've always been... Muggleborn... _Mudblood_, to the annoying prat over the wall of textbooks... daughter of dentists and bibliophile extraordinaire.

There is only one way to make sure. With a shaky hand, I place my wand against my supposed birthmother's name and whisper, "Hermione Granger."

With unspeakable sadness, and unqualified horror, I watch my own name appear through a blur a tears. The names of my birthparents are blotches of ink in the haze of my gaze as I focus in on the fancy cursive H, with swirls and loops, appear next to Emmanuelle's. My name is pushed to the bottom left of my birthmother's. I absently notice some discrepancy with the positioning of my name considering how it should technically be above that of the adopted daughter's but I don't think too deeply about it. I doubt there's a reason for it other than for the abnormality of Emmanuelle's name being in the spot that should be reserved for my own.

I think no more of it because I am mesmerized as my name continues to appear on the parchment. I softly suck in my breath as the rest of my name slowly appears. The script is both beautiful and terrorizing.

E...

R...

M...

I feel a soft touch at my shoulder and with a jerk I slam the book shut.

"Hermione, are you all right?"

I whip my face up to find the face of a friend.

_Ron._

"Hermione. You're weeping into that book. Why are you crying?!"

"Shhhhhhhhhhhh!" I warn instinctively putting my finger to my mouth, feeling the tears, now free-flowing, gathering at the point of my chin.

"_He's_ sleeping!" I whisper, lowering my gaze and nudging my head toward the blockade of textbooks. Ron, who is standing beside me, cautiously peers over.

"Is that... _Malfoy_?!" he asks.

_Funny, he doesn't seem as shocked as I imagine he could be._

Abashed, I nod, suddenly aware that this situation has the potential to turn quite ugly very fast.

"Yes, he finally fell asleep," I reply as calmly as I can muster, my face averted. "He needs rest, Ron... _please_..."

When there is no response, I turn to look at my ginger-haired friend, reluctant to see his reaction to my plea, finding myself more than surprised at his ready acceptance of the peculiar situation. I am even further shocked to see Ron offer me a soft smile as my gaze meets his. His hand is still gentle on my shoulder as he quietly eases himself into the chair beside mine.

"Did Malfoy make you cry, too, Hermione?" he asks concerned.

"No, Ron," I sigh. "It's Harry who's decided that making me cry is his lot in life. Considering it's_ Malfoy_," I motion again towards the sleeping blond, "In comparison, he's actually been quite decent. It's this book... ah... I just learned something."

Ron shakes his head, teasing quietly, "Don't tell me you're so overjoyed with your new knowledge that it's moved you to tears."

I offer him a quiet, watery laugh and shake my head, no.

"It's really disturbing information, Ron," I admit, reluctantly after a brief period of silence, "and I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to talk about it yet."

"Have you been talking to _anyone_ about what's bothering you, Hermione?"

I notice the hurt in his troubled survey of me and the purposeful way he's keeping himself from looking across the table. I bristle slightly.

"If you're meaning, _Malfoy_, no," I say shortly. Glancing quickly at the tower of books, I realize that though he's out of sight, the Ferret could be eavesdropping just as easily as I had with him and Myrtle.

"But he knows _something, _otherwise..." Ron looks pointedly at the book in my hands.

"Otherwise, _what_, Ron?" I hiss through clenched teeth.

There's a hesitancy about his mannerisms, I notice _guilt_, in his posture. I hasten to look down at Ron's hands... and gasp.

Without saying another word, and with great haste, I cast my wand around us and then toward Malfoy, incanting, _"Muffliato!"_ I didn't want to wait until my traitorous friend and I found a private place, nor could I risk Malfoy listening in.

My charm left Ron and me in a fairly private bubble in which I know I am able to yell if I like.

"How long, Ron?!" I demand with a shriek, pushing out of my chair and away from his reach.

"Hermione! What are you going on abou--"

"Your hands and the bottom half of your legs are invisible, Ronald! I. AM. NOT. AN. IMBECILE! Don't treat me as if I am! How long have you been using Harry's cloak to spy on me?!" Now standing, I can cast a stray glance at the top of Malfoy's head. He still appears as though he's asleep.

I watch the tensing of Ron's muscles at his neck and shoulders, made quite visible due to his indulgence in his favorite sport. He's clearly bothered that I'd caught him, but the one thing about Ron is that I know he'd never lie to me.

"Does it matter, Hermione?"

_Nor will he offer me the absolute truth if he can help himself from getting hit with a bat bogey hex._

"How long?!" I repeat menacingly.

I watch him sigh, steeling himself, weighing his options. Suddenly, Ron slumps down in his chair and finally gives me my answer.

"It's been nearly as long as Harry's believed that Malfoy wears the Dark Mark," he says begrudgingly.

I let out a small cry. That's longer than than the time I've been working with Malfoy on the cabinet! What had Ron heard? What had he seen? Has he been in the Room of Requirement with us? Does he know what I'd been looking at in this book?

"Harry wanted me to follow Malfoy," he continues with his loud excuses, still not wanting to approach me. "Then, Snape gave you that assignment and I couldn't very well spy on Malfoy without spying on you, could I? I thought of telling you, but..."

"But _what_, Ron?"

"Well, at first I thought, what's the harm? I saw that you were alone with Malfoy,_ a lot._ I figured I'd just, you know, stay around and make sure he wasn't being cruel to you, that you were safe. Besides, you know my marks, I need to be reading in the librar--"

"Covered in an invisibility cloak, spying on me!?!" I shout, exasperated.

"Hermione... _please_..."

"And when you discovered that I would come to no harm, Ron? What about _then_? Why didn't you stop _then_?"

Ron squirms under my scrutiny.

"I... I saw how Malfoy was treating you and.... well... _he made you smile_, Hermione," his arm movements inform me that he's worrying his hands beneath the cloak. "I was curious. Neither Harry or I have been able to coax a smile from you all year!"

I ignore his excuses.

"What do you _know_? What have you discovered by spying on me?" I demand, feeling my eyes shining again, not in sadness, but in absolute frustration at the violation.

"Only that I think the ferret fancies you, and that you and he are both bothered by something that's making _each_ of your glamour charms, which are stellar, by the way, no longer effective," Ron replies with some strength in his voice. "What's going on, Hermione? Why is Malfoy... so _nice_... to you when he thinks no one is looking? Why do you both look like you haven't slept or eaten for weeks? Are you secretly dating, Malfoy?! Is that why you both are so terribly distressed? Is the secret too much to bear?"

"What?! Ron?! Are you insane?" I gasp, reddening at the thought of me and Malfoy as a couple being voiced aloud. "Secretly dating, Malfoy? _Honestly_, Ron," I whisper shaking my head and lowering my wand.

My best friend leans back, likely comforted that I won't hex him now. "Hermione, Malfoy's just... ah... well... he treats you..."

"I _know_," I say, deciding to mercifully interrupt Ron's bumbling. "I treat _him_ with kindness, too. Is that such a sin? If it's any consolation, I don't do it very often. This is one of those rare times. We still can't seem to stop swiping at each other. But, we do have to work together until we complete Snape's assignment, and I've decided it's just better if we're on speaking terms so we can accomplish it."

Ron peers at me quizzically, motioning for me to return to my seat. I move to sit and stare again at the fortress of books in front of me.

"Why don't you tell me what you're working on, Hermione?" Ron says. "Will that ease some of your worry? Maybe I can even help?"

I turn to look at him doubtfully.

"Oh, right," his blue eyes, downcast, I know he thinks I'm disparaging his brainpower, or what he believes is a lack of.

"It's not _that_, Ron," I say, pleading for him to understand my inability to explain. "I just _can't_ tell you."

"_Can't_ or _won't, _Hermione?"

"_Can't_, Ron," I say, staring into his eyes meaningfully.

"Earlier, you two were talking about an oath to protect one another," he says half to himself. "Is _that_ it?"

"I _can't_ tell," I gasp frantically.

Already I feel the expected, unwanted desire to launch myself at Malfoy and confess my deep, hidden feelings for him. I grip the bottom of my chair hoping that Ron won't continue with this game of twenty questions.

I feel Ron take careful survey of my posture.

"OK, how about I guess then, if you can't say?" He taps his now visible finger against his mouth as he stares at me for my response. "You're under some sort of spell because of this oath... and every time we talk about it, you're doing everything you can to stop yourself from doing _something_."

I'm grasping the top of the worktable now, and digging my heels into the ground. There's nothing more I want to do than to wake Malfoy up and tell him I've been thinking of him non-stop since he'd taken the time to get the book for me. As I contemplate telling Ron everything, I find myself wishing desperately to tell Malfoy about some of my subconscious, most embarrassing, more romantic daydreams in which he plays the ultimate romantic hero.

_Ugh!_

I'm shaking in my effort to keep myself from standing and waking Malfoy as I admit, with only a nod of my head, to Ron that this spell is what's keeping me from explaining everything.

Ron places a heavy hand on my shoulder as he looks between me and the pile of textbooks in the middle of the table.

"I'm guessing that if you tell me what's going on, you'll be forced to do something with... _or to_... Malfoy?"

I send him a pleading look. I can feel the tears of frustration welling again.

"And you _don't_ want to do it, _whatever_ it is that you now feel compelled to do with Malfoy. Is this why you can't tell me?"

I look away, gritting my teeth, feeling the bunching of my biceps as I forcibly keep my body in my seat. Ron's hand, thankfully, is still helping to press me down.

"OK, Hermione, I get it."

I sigh, thankful to feel the stress in my muscles dissipate as Ron eases off the interrogation. I let out a ragged breath.

"So, if you can't tell me, Hermione," Ron continues as soon as I get comfortable in my seat again. "Will you still let me use Harry's cloak so I can find out for myself?"

I swallow, thinking about how this might affect my interactions with Malfoy, knowing that Ron might be a silent, invisible witness. I look doubtfully at my friend, so much more reasonable now that Harry's gone completely barmy. I look at the tower of books in front of me and then I gaze soulfully at Ron. It would be so good to have a friend as my confidante again. I press my lips together and I feel my brow furrow as I contemplate the possible effects my decision might have. I take a deep breath.

"I have to tell you what happened over the summer, Ron," I whisper, "But not here, not now."

I watch him nod carefully. "Were you... _hurt_, Hermione?"

I nod, but my eyes widen as a horrified expression takes hold of Ron's face.

"What?!" I meet his alarmed gaze and suddenly realize what he may be thinking. "Oh, no, Ron! Not hurt like _that_, not _physically_. It's just that I discovered something life altering about myself and I'm scared. Really scared and confused. You know how much I don't like not having all the information about something. Well, I have to process what I've learned first before I can talk to you about it. OK?"

"OK, Hermione, but you know I can be with you even while you're doing _that_."

"I know, Ron," I say, grabbing hold of his hand. "And I thank your for that offer. I promise to tell you when I'm ready. And, I'll let you use the cloak, alright? But you have to tell me when you are going to follow me. Will you agree?"

I watch him nod reluctantly. I nod back solemnly. He pulls me into a rib-cracking hug to seal the deal, and when he releases me, I point my wand at the stack of books.

"Finite Incantantum," I whisper.

I turn to look at Ron, but he is gone.

I return to my Arithmancy and wait for Malfoy to wake.

* * *

"Granger," Malfoy's gravelly voice greets me an hour or so later. I look up to see him easing an opening in his makeshift fort.

"Malfoy," I reply, looking down to scribble my work onto my parchment.

"Thanks, I needed that."

"Ditto," I reply, handing the family tree book to him. He looks at me quizzically. I don't think he understands my Muggle reply.

"Did you discover what you needed?"

"Yes," I answer, offering nothing else as I look down to close my Defense against Dark Arts textbook.

"Well, Granger?"

I shake my head, eyes still downcast, not wanting to explain. I finally glance up to catch him studying me as I continue to refuse to speak.

"Actually, I've discovered something, too," he says quietly, standing to stretch and put his books away.

"What's that?" I inquire casually, following suit with packing up, but keeping him in sight from the corner of my eye.

"There's some things I need to tell you and I don't think you're going to like it," he replies, looking down to arrange his books in his bag and stopping to look up at me squarely.

"What is it?" I say, my hands stilling on the buckle of my bag.

"Let's wait until next week to discuss it, OK?"

"Why can't you tell me now, Malfoy?"

"Why can't you tell me _why_ you need the book, Granger?"

I stop my movements for a minute, stunned somehow that he would ask. I, at last, make myself shake my head at him.

"I'll show you next week, Bookworm, OK?" he offers, almost gently.

"That sounds fine, Malfoy," I acquiesce quietly, understanding his reluctance to share before preparing to deal with the repercussions.

"Things are even between us now, Granger," he formalizes, ducking his head down to at last snap up his bag. "But, what I'm going to show you and ask of you... I think... It's not going to make you think very kindly of me."

"When did it begin to matter what a Mudblood like me thinks of the likes of you?" I answer with a quiet, nearly teasing scoff.

I watch him struggle for an appropriate comeback.

"...and besides," I add with a wry smile, interrupting his fumbling thoughts. " You've never claimed kindness, Malfoy. _Remember_?"

"Touchè" he says with a hint of a smirk. "I'll see you tomorrow, Bookworm."

"Tomorrow, then, Ferret," I reply.

I feel a the tug of a smile playing on my lips as I turn to climb the stairs to the library's main study room.


	17. Hear No Evil

**Chapter 17: Hear No Evil**

**

* * *

**

_a/n: moving up the Dynamic Duo's Slughorn visit to before the Winter holiday break to push the plot forward in this story. My gratitude to StarDuchess for her amazing beta work._

_

* * *

**Listen!  
POV: Draco**

* * *

_

Tonight I have prefect duty. And wouldn't you just know it, I would have a run-in with Granger's bumbling best friends as they make their way to Slughorn's chambers.

I'd just come from the threshold of the Potions professor's quarters intent on retrieving the bottle of mead that McLaggen, that self-serving git, stole from my trunk. Due to my unfortunate ancestry, however, I couldn't get past the professor's doorway.

Slughorn had caught one sight of my striking Malfoy features upon answering my knock and instantly decided I wasn't worth his time. I only had a moment to warn him that he should check for foreign substances before partaking of any gifts of libations since Hogwarts students were known for trickery played upon new professors.

He'd laughed me off and insisted that as Potions professor he knew what was what. And, well, that was that. He shut the door then, but not before I'd caught sight of the bottle of poisoned mead next to an open decanter. I've been worrying myself outside his door, kicking at the wall, straining my ears for the sound of a large, heavy body falling inside his room, ever since.

"Romilda Vane is my own darling, Harry! The apple of my eye!" I look up and stop my nervous movements as I hear the Weasel shout his undying love for a girl that barely registers in the outer reaches of my consciousness. He's making his declarations at the top of his lungs, and I wonder at the stableness of his mental faculties. "Romilda Vane is more beautiful than the moon, the sun, and the stars all put together! I think I shall write a sonnet. Do you have parchment and a quill, Harry?"

I hear Potter chuckle and laughingly reprimand his mate before they turn the corner.

"No, I don't. You know, Ron, you shouldn't open other people's Christmas presents," the Scar-Headed One scolds. "That was mine, and I would have warned you against them if I'd known you'd plucked them out of my trunk with my cloak. If only you'd just stop trying to eat everything in sight! You know I would never get you Chocolate Cauldrons for a Christmas gift!"

"I know you think it's a love potion that's infected me, Harry," the Weasel sighs dopily, "but this is _true_ love. It's the truest love that ever there was."

Even I have to chuckle at the redhead's sappiness. Whatever this Vane chit gave Potter, it was one whopper of a love potion. I mentally remind myself to steer clear of any girls bearing chocolate gifts of the liquor variety.

The two Gryffindor buffoons appear down the corridor. I've already guessed that they are making their way to Slughorn's in search of an antidote. Potter stills as soon as he catches sight of me in front of the door he's heading towards.

"So, the Weasel's finally gotten over his thing for you then, Potter?" I sneer mockingly, observing the way The Boy Who Lived Just to Annoy the Living Hell Out of Me held onto his best mate. "You must be terribly heartbroken."

Potty is of smaller stature compared to the giant redhead, but he's managed to grab Weaselbee around the waist with one arm and tug with his other to propel them both forward.

"Out of the way, Malfoy, and shut it."

"Oi, Malfoy," Weasel says, moving in too close for comfort as they near. He fails royally at his attempted whisper. "Harry and you fancy the same girl, did you know that, Ferret? Isn't that irony?"

_Ironic_, I correct mentally, my scowl tightening.

"Hey, maybe we should all go out! I'll take Romilda Vane, of course," the Weasel continues with a goofy smile. Obviously, the love potion comes with some sort of added dope-ifying effect. "And you both could take--"

"Ron!"

"No, Harry, not _me_! I told you, I love Romilda! I was talking about the two of you lads taking _Hermione_!"

I roll my eyes skyward and shake my head in disgust at this ridiculous display.

"You're nutters, Weasley," I grind out, my acidic glare never leaving Potter's equally icy one.

"Yes, I'm barking mad, madly in love with Romilda. Have you seen her hair, Malfoy? Not quite as lovely as your girl's, but Romilda is all mine, don't you see? Speaking of that, have you seen her eyes, Harry? Hey, what House is she in again? I think I will serenade her! Are you sure you don't have a quill and parchment? I'm not sure I'll be able to remember all of my words of adoration for her."

I let out a scoff of distaste.

"Merlin, do something, Potter! The weasel's more pathetic than I've ever seen him and that's saying quite a lot."

Leaving Weasley against the wall, Potter pushes past me to beg entrance at Slughorn's door. I approach the loopy redhead while Potty is off on his task.

"What do you know of Granger and me?" I ask hotly, my face quite close to his. His eyes are glazed and I am not sure if I'll get a straight answer.

"Only that you gave her a flower, once," he answers dreamily, turning his face to look down at me. "I watched her. You didn't stay. Hermione smiled when she saw what you'd done. You know that, Malfoy?"

I register the shock.

_He'd been watching! For a LONG time!_

Long enough to think I have a _thing_ for his bushy-haired friend. How dare he!

"You actually made Hermione smile, Malfoy. _Amazing, that!_ But, of course, _you _would know that girls like flowers. Do you think Romilda might like flowers?"

I try not to preen at his unintended compliment. I focus instead on the aggravating fact that he'd likely been spying.

Wait!

He's been spying and...

I'm still alive?

_I'm still alive!_

Weasley hasn't tried to murder me?!

_Strange._

Intriguing.

As I ponder the weasel's lack of attack upon my person, it dawns on me that he may be the cause of the disturbing onset of paranoia I'd been feeling all year. In fact, the more he babbles on, it becomes clearer that he's been watching me with Granger for quite some time.

Merlin! What had the oaf seen?! How had he even accomplished such stealth? The more I consider the surety of his secret surveillance, the more I realize I have no profanity in my vocabulary depraved enough to fully express my rage at Weasely for this violation.

"Weasley, how much do you know?" I seethe, barely reigning in the desire to hex him to kingdom come.

The ginger-haired giant merely looks confounded, mumbling something about Granger asking the same sort of thing, and I quickly realize I'm going to have to save that line of questioning for another day. Right now, I have to swiftly relay some rather pertinent information before Potter's imminent return.

"Listen, Weasel, try to understand what I am about to say. Fight that ridiculous potion running through your thick head, OK? Listen!" I order.

He nods, attempting to clear his head with a shake. His brows furrow in concentration before turning his gaze to meet mine. We are nearly nose-to-nose since he's slouched a little against the wall.

"Do _not_ drink any liquor while you're with Slughorn, Weasley," I hiss quickly, looking furtively over at Potter still waiting for the Potions professor to answer his knock.

"Don't let Slughorn drink it. Don't _you_ drink it. Do you hear? And, ..." I hesitate, momentarily relishing the wonderful idea of finally ridding myself of Potter, but decide against it after coming to the conclusion I wouldn't be able to stomach how horribly Granger might react to his untimely demise.

"Tell Potter not to drink it, either," I add reluctantly. "Remind Potter of the beozar. Weasley!" I watch as the boy in front of me loses focus. I nearly reach out to shake him to ensure he is lucid enough to receive the message.

"Weasley! Do you understand?!" I snarl menacingly, finally forced to place a hand on his immense chest lest he slump to the floor swooning about this Romilda bint.

He nods mechanically before I feel Potter forcibly move me out of the way.

"Leave off, Ferret!"

I turn with a sneer at Potter and take my sweet time making my way down the corridor.

As they step foot into Slughorn's quarters, I hear Weasely say in his poorly disguised whisper, "Harry, why do you s'pose Malfoy wants me to remember that beozar thing?"

"A _beozar_?! Malfoy's a right idiot, Ron. That's for poisons that might kill you! Eating it now might make you sick or something," Potter surmises with great irritation. "You've only been given a love potion. A beozar's not the proper antidote for that!"

"Gentlemen! Welco--" The sound of Slughorn's greeting and his door closing has me stopping in my tracks. With any luck, the potentially deadly substance that my aunt made me tote back to Hogwarts just might eat right through Slughorn's decanter and spill harmlessly to the floor. Then, all my worry will be for naught. Even so, I can't help but wonder if Weasley's idle query will have any play in assisting Potter tonight.

For Granger's sake, I hope it does.

**

* * *

_Listening  
POV: Ron_

* * *

**

_"Ron, can you hear me?" _

The voice to my right is raspy, as though he'd been asking me the same question for ages.

_"Gods, Harry, is he going to be alright?"_

_"I swear, Hermione, it was Malfoy who did this to him!"_

_"Are you going on about that again, Harry?! You told me, that night Malfoy left before you even entered Slughorn's room! How could Malfoy have done this to Ron?! You and Slughorn were with Ron when it happened! If anything, Slughorn did this to him!"_

I can hear Hermione's outright exasperation and Harry's barely reigned fury as they continue to argue. I want to chime in but my mouth won't move.

_What happened?_ The last thing I remember about Malfoy was him snarling at me. I recall his chrome-colored eyes narrowing, demanding that I listen and remember something... _what was it?_ I search the fuzzy corners of my mind... oh!.. _the beozar!_ But, I'd been too busy considering how to send Romilda flowers and compose lyrics to a song.

_"That drink Slughorn offered us could have killed Ron, Hermione! Are you going to continue to defend Malfoy? Because I want you to know that that loathsome git nearly killed your best friend four nights ago, and I'm going to prove it!"_

_"Harry! I love Ron, too, but he would want you to see reason as well! You're NOT being reasonable. You're letting your anger get the best of you, again! This is not you, Harry! Be sensible!" _

_"He was there, Hermione! Malfoy told Ron to remember the beozar!"_

_"And, if he hadn't, Harry? What then? Would you have remembered on your own? Even Slughorn was paralyzed with fear when he saw Ron convulsing and foaming at the mouth!"_

Really? That happened to me? How gruesome!

_"Malfoy reminding Ron is evidence enough that he knew. He knew, Hermione! He knew that there was poison in Slughorn's chamber and that we would likely be offered a drink of it! Otherwise why-"_

_"Exactly, Harry! If he wanted to kill Ron, why would Malfoy warn him? Your line of thinking doesn't make a bit of sense! You're accusing Malfoy of being a murderer, Harry! While I can agree that he can be loathsome, deceitful and cruel, Malfoy is sixteen, just like us, and he's NOT a murderer!"_

I hear Harry's angry huff and the sound of his heavy footsteps stomping out of the space my bed occupies. I know when he's gone because I feel Hermione take my hand and smell her familiar scent waft over me as she lays her head against my shoulder.

_"You are not allowed to die, Ronald Weasley," _she scolds softly.

Her hand tightens in mine as I feel some wetness at my collarbone. She must be crying again.

_"I haven't told you my secret, Ron," _she pleads._ "You have to come out of this. You can't leave me, Ron. There's no one else I can tell!"_

I work desperately to make my eyes open or move my fingers to acknowledge I hear her, but to no avail.

_"I hear your heart, Ron," _she whispers_. "Of the three of us, I think you've got the biggest heart. Have I ever told you that? You might not be refined, but you're thoughtful and kind. You might not be exactly my cup of tea where looks are concerned, but you are handsome in your own right. You've learned to tame that flaming temper of yours and you do make me laugh when I so desperately need it." _

I hear her choking on her tears.

_"Ron, I need you. Please come back."_

I feel her place her wet cheek against mine.

_"You're leaking?! Again!?" _His sneering tone belies the concern I detect in his reprimand of my friend._ "I thought we'd talked about you stopping the waterworks and finally getting some sleep?"_

Malfoy. I hadn't heard him enter, sneaky little Slytherin!

_"It's been three days, Malfoy." _Hermione's teary reply seems to further agitate the ferret.

_"He'll snap out of this, Granger," _Malfoy responds impatiently. _"You're not doing him any favors carrying on like this!"_

_"Malfoy, I repeat, it's been three days and FOUR nights! Ron's still laying here, not talking, not moving! Harry's anger towards you has amplified, though how that's possible I can't fathom." _ Hermione's back is up and the sound Malfoy emits seems surprisingly rather pleased._ "It's as though the longer Ron is in his coma, Harry readies his tools, sharpening them even more to crucify you."_

_"Potter's desire to mortally wound me is not too difficult to imagine, Granger."_ Though he means the words to be contemptuous, I can detect some hidden sadness in Malfoy's tone._ "Seems there are a lot of people who'd like to see me dead. I rather think Potter's mode of bringing me to my ultimate end might just be the most merciful."_

_"Stop it!" _Hermione nearly shouts,_ "I can't stand hearing you talk that way, Malfoy, even though I am still angry with you and wouldn't mind being without your presence for some time!" _

I feel Hermione's weight lift off of my shoulder, but her hand remains firmly in mine. I can almost feel the indignation streaming off of her.

_"Why, besides our sordid past, are you angry with me now, Granger?"_

_"You can't expect me to sit back and demurely accept your still unexplained reasons for having Snape pull me off the assignment, Malfoy. Besides that, this morose brooding isn't helping matters!"_

_"Like I told you nearly a week ago, Granger, the project is over. You'll get to take your exams. You're free of the oath's bonds, as am I. And, I repeat, all I told Snape was that I couldn't guarantee my ability to uphold my end of the vow regarding your protection." _Admittedly, Malfoy sounds quite sincere in this explanation. "C_onsidering the fact that I can hardly protect myself from an inevitably grisly death, Granger, I certainly don't want to be responsible for yours!" _

His retort is bitter, but there is care there too.

I am confused because I've obviously come into this fight midstream. What I do immediately understand is that Malfoy fears for Hermione's safety. This is further evidenced in his tone. Being robbed of my sense of sight, I am able to latch on to a hesitancy beneath the sarcasm in the ferret's voice. He seems genuinely afraid for Hermione.

_"Why do you think you're fated to die? You still haven't fully explained yourself, Malfoy!"_ she nearly shrieks in exasperation. _"You have no right to determine whether or not I am able to protect myself! Or take on the role of my protector! I will not sit demurely by as you kick me off a project that I want to finish!" _

Of all the comebacks I expect to hear from Malfoy, the one he offers her is not it.

_"You're tired, Granger, and you're beside yourself with worry for Weasley,"_ he says almost gently. _"You're not up for this fight._"There is some rustling and I feel Hermione pull a little furthur away_. "Here, I got this from Mdm. Pomfrey. It's a sleeping draught. Use it. No arguments. Just for one night. You look like hell. The Weasel won't want to see you this distraught. Go, Granger. I'll stay."_

There is a hesitant pause as I feel her remove herself from my side.

_"You won't hex him, will you, Malfoy? And you'll still use your Disillusionment Charm?" _she asks, seeming to capitulate.

This is new. Hermione listening to the likes of Malfoy? Maybe I've woken to find myself in an alternate universe.

_"You ask me the same questions every bloody night. Weasley knows that you and I are... ahhhh... on friendlier terms. He has, by his own account, known for a long time and he hasn't hexed me for it. Now tell me, Granger, have I cursed him yet? Has anyone discovered my presence here, though I've been at his bedside longer than Potter's even bothered these four nights?"_

_"No,"_ comes her reluctant response.

_"Trust me, Granger,"_ he adds with surprising patience. _"I'll keep watch. No one will hurt Carrot Top, though the Weasel might have a heart attack to find me at his side if he wakes. For the record, I will not be responsible for his death by cardiac arrest."_

I can almost hear the patented smirk as I listen to Hermione's soft chuckle. Even I almost want to laugh at that, though I bristle at the new nickname.

_"Go rest your eyes, Bookworm."_

_"You should do the same, Ferret."_

I hear him scoff at her as she quietly shuffles out.

There is a creak of a chair to my right. I assume Malfoy's taken his seat to keep his silent and undetected vigil.

It seems an eternity of wondering what Malfoy is doing as he watches over me. I am drifting in and out of consciousness when I at last hear him speak.

_"Merlin knows why I'm here, Weasley,"_ Malfoy says half to himself. Surprisingly, there is little disgust in his tone. It must be well past curfew and I must be the only one in the hospital wing if he's bothering to talk to me. _"I don't know why you haven't already hexed me into the next century considering what you might think I've been doing with your beloved Granger."_

So, he believes that I don't have a mind that operates outside of Harry's, does he?

_"I don't know if you've heard anything during these last few nights, Weasley, but whether or not you have, I have to admit you're the best therapist I've had all year. You beat Myrtle hands down. I mean, at least you don't try to do lascivious things to me against the bathroom wall as I release my bloody pathetic pent up emotions."_

I hear his wry, humorless chuckle and shudder internally at the very idea of that screaming banshee within ten feet of me, much less rubbing up against my body. Malfoy lets out something that sounds very much like a pained whimper.

_"I was wrong, Weasley. All this time. My whole life! My father, my entire family, EVERYONE I know is fighting on the wrong side of this war. You know what's worse? Your pureblood family, The Weasley clan, as poor and uncouth as you are, understood the truth of it all from the beginning. You've known that blood doesn't matter! You've known it all along! And, of course, it's all because of your little bushy-haired friend, the bane of my existence, that I've finally come to see the truth of it."_

His voice is no louder than a whisper, but I can hear the anguish in it.

There is silence as I hear him utter another impossible confession, one I'm sure he would never speak in the light of day, nor to any other living soul other than me in my current state.

"_Your Granger, she's quite spectacular, isn't she?"_

My heart breaks a little for him. He has it bad and I'm not entirely sure he knows just how deeply he's fallen. I'm positive he doesn't realize the kind of vengeful rivalry he's inviting because of his new found feelings for our bookish miss.

_"I've taken a page from Gryffindor's blasted book, Weasley, and I've decided to throw myself to the wolves. Literally, if you consider Fenrir Greyback." _

There's a horrified pause as he and I both consider _that_ gruesome fate.

_"I know how to fix the cabinet, thanks to your brainy friend. It'll just take one simple spell and all hell will break loose. Not that I agree with this, mind you, but the dark powers are strong, Weasley, and I am... alone... in this. Whether I like it or not, the Dark Mark will be forced on me this spring."_

I hear him let out a shaky breath. It's a distressing sound coming from Malfoy, who I never considered might actually feel... _anything_.

_"All I can do is get Granger out of harm's way as I wait for the date they need that cabinet to be opened. I know what I have to do and I've been gearing up for it. I know you wouldn't agree with my reasoning; I barely can. But that v-Voldemort is one sick half-blood bastard! And, frankly, I'm scared out of my wits! Merlin, I'm thankful you can't talk. It's just that I need to confess to someone and you're ideal, seeing as you can't hear, see, or speak."_

Coward! I want to hit him for his idiocy.

_"I never claimed to be a hero, Weasel, and you're here due to my renowned cowardice. I should have stood up to my barking mad Aunt Bella. Then, all of this could have been avoided. She's a right bitch, that one! She planned the whole necklace fiasco and had me bring the poison you drank into the castle. Of course, if it weren't for that git, McLaggen, you wouldn't be here because I'd changed my mind about listening to her! That damn mead would have still been in my trunk!"_

I mentally place a reminder to myself to ask Malfoy about McLaggen's role in my poisoning. It'll be yet another reason to hate that sodding, arrogant prick.

_"In any case, this soul clearing is not to absolve myself. Merlin knows, I'll need a whole other lifetime for that if I succeed with what v-Voldemort wants me to do. But you, Red, offer me a unique opportunity to at last say aloud all that's been rattling around in my head. Maybe if I say it, though it might be wishful thinking, I'll be able to get a little sleep before I die."_

I wish for the ability to roll my eyes and call the ferret out for the drama queen that he is. But despite my reaction to his words, I would do anything to be able to scoot closer to his quivering voice.

_"I doubt there's a real possibility you can hear, Weasley, but even so, I want you to know that I am sorry. I am so very desperately and deeply sorry."_

His remorse is palatable_._

_"If I could change everything about how I got here, to this moment of having to contemplate actually doing the Dark Lo-- v-Voldemort's bidding and feeling so... incredibly horrified and guilty at the prospect of..."_

Blimey! Is the sod... _crying_?!

_"If there was any other way, Weasley, I would try it. Since I've run out of options, even if it means I perish, I will go to my grave knowing I am keeping my mum safe and my deeply misguided father alive. Most of all, I've got to do this to ensure that Gra-"_

There's silence and a watery sigh from him as he seems to be trying to pull himself together. On a ragged breath he continues.

_"I'm doing this so that Hermione is protected. You'll do that for her, Weasley. I know you and Potter will keep her safe, even if I end up dead, or worse, working for the other side. I promise to do what I can from that side of the fence."_

Of course Malfoy would consider going rogue, arrogant prat. For someone so cunning, you'd think he would have already thought of the safer and more sensible alternative that I've already mapped out in my head. Maybe dealing with this new thing called emoting threw Malfoy off his game.

As I continue to absorb his unexpected, heartfelt confession, I feel the sudden ability to at last wiggle my fingers and toes. I'd been trying to move since my brain registered Harry's voice earlier. As Malfoy finishes his haunting speech, I silently open and close my lips and touch my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

The ferret must not be looking my way.

"Malfoy," I croak.

"Weasley?" his shocked gasp of a reply has me grinning. His Disillusionment Charm fades as he loses the ability to focus on his magic.

"You've got options," I continue in a gravelly voice, my blue eyes meeting his stunned silver ones, "and, Malfoy, you've found yourself a new ally."

**

* * *

_Hear me...  
POV: Hermione_

* * *

**

"Ron?"

I watch his eyelids flutter open and am greeted with his warm blue gaze coupled with his familiar smile.

"Malfoy told me you woke up last night," I say quietly, still getting used to the unfamiliar use of _that_ name associated with any sort of kindness.

"I did," Ron croaks. "I think it was because of all the bellowing between you and Harry. But, I think the Ferret's blubbering was what finally snapped me out of it. Did he tell you any of it?"

I shake my head, my mind expanding to take in the knowledge that Ron and Malfoy had a bit of a heart-to-heart without hexing one another, all likely due to the fact that Ron hadn't had the full use of his limbs at the time. I smile wanly.

"Are you ready for more secrets, Ron? Or shall I wait until you're in better form?"

"I've been faking sleep for the better part of the afternoon, Hermione," Ron's guiltily look has me smothering a giggle. "My girlfriend keeps coming 'round, you see, and you know I'm no good with weepy females. Besides, I could do with a little excitement. Harry hasn't even had a chance to visit, him spying on Malfoy while trying to keep up with Dumbledore's assignments, and all."

I snort my displeasure at our bespectacled friend.

"You should try to forgive Harry, Hermione. He's a mess and he isn't able to talk to me like he does you. I can't imagine how he's keeping from going mental, considering all that he's got locked up inside."

I nod non-commitally. There are things I want to say during this visit and discussing our green-eyed friend is not one of them.

I cast a Mufliato around us. _I've been using this one a lot lately._

"I thought you didn't approve of that charm," Ron notices. "You used it that last time on Malfoy, too."

"Times change, Ron," I reply sadly, "As do circumstances."

"What are you talking about, Hermione?"

"You've been wondering what's been eating at me all year, right, Ron?"

He nods and I continue.

"I found out over the summer that my parents are not my birthparents. I am of magical blood, as it turns out." I laugh hollowly at the irony of it all. "My real parents? Aiden Mustildae and Caroline Geonicy. A half-blood father and a pureblood mother. Doesn't that beat all?"

Ron looks as though he's been stupified.

"Well, I might as well tell you the whole of it, since you're taking this so well," she says slowly. "Remember when we spoke in the library? According to the book you saw me crying into, I'm the niece of the great and vile _Dark Lord_. I'm of Slytherin blood, Ron."

"Merlin, Hermione!" Ron's eyes are wide. His vast blue orbs darken in alarm. "No wonder you've been acting this way! Does Malfoy know? Is that why he hasn't been his usual vicious self towards you?"

"What? Malfoy?! No!" I shudder. "And, I don't want him to know! _Ever_! Let him keep thinking I'm a Mudblood. I don't want to discover what he'd do if he found out I didn't have Muggle parents after all. I don't want him to know that I, in fact, have a stronger claim to Slytherin house than _he_ does!"

I let out an anguished cry and bury my face in my hands. I am horrified that the weight of this has reduced me to this sniveling wisp of girl. I can't stand what I've become!

_But all the questions... they're eating me alive!_

"Why did my parents switch me, Ron? Didn't they want me? What's wrong with me? I was only a little baby! Am I destined to be evil, just like Tom Riddle?"

"Calm down, Hermione," Ron soothes. "You don't know what the history is. You're the first one who reminds us not to jump to conclusions! Get a hold of yourself, and when I get better, we can do the research together."

I shake myself out of the mini-panic attack and stare at my ginger-haired friend. When had he become so self-possessed?

"Did Harry tell you about Voldemort's bloodline, Hermione? How do you know about Riddle?"

"What? How does Harry know about that?" I inquire curiously. "Harry hasn't spoken to me about any of this. I know that Tom Riddle is a direct descendant of Slytherin by way of the Gaunts because _Malfoy _figured it out. _He's_ the one who told me."

"That explains Malfoy's about-face, then," Ron says, rubbing his fingers against his eyes, moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Logical as that prat is, he must not be able to stomach fighting for the cause of Purebloods, knowing that they have a half-blood as their demented leader."

I stare at him in disbelief. "Malfoy told _you _this?"

"In a way. He thought I was a vegetable at the time. Made his confession thinking I couldn't hear it."

"What else did he say to you, Ron?"

"Malfoy said a lot of things, Hermione," he finally replies after a few moments of contemplation. "The most important was that he wants to see you safe. What he's chosen to do, things like kicking you off of Snape's project and stopping himself from studying with you in the library, well, that prat doesn't even realize it, but he's doing it all out of his... ahh..."

I cast him a look of warning.

"His... ah... tender feelings for you," he finishes lamely.

"That's a load of-"

"He's trying to _protect_, you, Hermione, because he cares!" Ron interrupts impatiently.

I begin to protest again, but Ron interjects before I can get a word in.

"And Merlin help me, Hermione, but I happen to agree with Malfoy's line of thinking."

I huff my disgust at all of this sudden misplaced chivalry.

"I won't have Malfoy or you, or Harry, for that matter, treating me like some helpless, cowering _female _who needs a knight in shining armor, much less _three_," I say forcefully. Itching to whip out my wand, I stare at him in outrage. "I can take care of myself, Ron! Besides, I am much smarter than the three of you dolts put together! I admit, I'd rather not go it alone, so don't make me! But, you and I, and even Malfoy, we'll figure out a plan so that we can _all_ stay safe. I daresay we might want to leave Harry out of this for now, considering..."

My voice drops off as I sense Ron tense. I look up and our eyes lock in silent battle. He knows my stubbornness can outlast his. You have to admire him for trying, though. As expected, Ron's the first to give in.

Slumping in defeat, Ron says, "Fine, Hermione, agreed."

"Gods, Ron!" I say nervously gripping his sheets. "I can't believe I'm even entertaining the idea of helping that arrogant prat out of his big mysterious mission that he's convinced will bring him sure death. Didn't I wish him dead most of these last six years?! What is wrong with me?! I suppose my desire to assist Malfoy must be because I am a..." I scowl in the manner of what must be a trademark of my ancestor's house, "_bloody_ Slytherin."

Ron's head perks up the minute he hears my assumption. "No, Hermione," he says with conviction. "You're not holding a hand out to Malfoy because you're a Slytherin. You're doing this because you're a Gryffindor, through and through."

I smile, lift the Muffliato, and give my best friend a quick peck on the cheek before heading to Arithmancy.


	18. Do No Evil?

**Do No Evil?**

**

* * *

A meeting of minds  
POV: Snape

* * *

**

I've been of the belief that there is nothing in this world left to astonish me.

I was wrong.

Minerva sent a summons about an hour ago, calling me to her supervisor's office overlooking the prefect meeting room. To my knowledge, only the head boy and girl know of its existence, allowing McGonagall to observe prefect meetings without her austere presence stemming the spontaneous exchange of student ideas. It now appears that at least one other select student has been made aware of the secret nest above the room.

Upon my arrival, I am treated to a bird's eye view of a gathering of a most unlikely trio, a meeting of minds that I would never have believed possible had I not witnessed it for myself. Before I can settle into my seat to observe the strange spectacle, however, the deputy headmistress has a quick sit down with me to explain my presence.

"Now, Severus," Minerva begins, "Hermione Granger is aware of our surveillance. She came to me earlier this week with concerns for Draco Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy has made Miss Granger and Ron Weasely aware of a rather dangerous situation in which he finds himself entangled."

I feel my frown of displeasure form as she speaks. Why hadn't the boy come to me for assistance instead of running his mouth off to Granger and Weasley, possibly the least equipped of The Order's members able to help him?

"Severus," McGonagall continues, "Miss Granger and I are of the same mind that Mr. Malfoy's distress might be somewhat relieved if you were to take a more active role in assisting him."

"I assure you, Minerva, I am already helping the younger Mr. Malfoy in every capacity allowable to me considering my precarious situation," I say cautiously, unsure of what she might suggest I do.

"Severus, from what I've gathered from Miss Granger, I do believe Mr. Malfoy is no longer in complete allegiance with his father and is open to new ideas," her nasally voice reaching the higher tone she usually reserves for students about to receive high marks in her Transfiguration class. "He, however, is without guidance. I believe that it is perhaps time that Mr. Malfoy is made aware of other, more noble, Slytherin men whom he might model himself after."

I consider my colleague and counterpart in the Order of The Phoenix.

"Exactly what would you have me do, Minerva?" I ask tonelessly.

"I ask you to watch the events below," McGonagall says, revealing even less emotion than me. "Miss Granger will touch her throat and look up toward us. This indicates the point at which she'd like us to closely watch her and her companions. When you see her touch her throat again, it is meant as an open invitation for you to join them. Whether you do so or not is up to you, Severus."

I nod my understanding. I turn and look down to observe a developing relationship that would never have occurred had it not been for Dumbledore's brilliant puppeteering. From my seat, I have an unobstructed view of Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Weasley in the room below. By the looks of things, the prefects are just adjourning their meeting.

Once the room empties of all others, I take careful survey of the space, discovering that Potter is noticeably absent. The blond and redhead have their backs to me. Granger, who is now touching her throat as though playing with an invisible necklace, looks up to meet my curious gaze.

"Malfoy, don't you think it's time you tell us what's going on exactly?" Granger inquires, her voice echoing in the near vacant room. She twines her fingers together on the top of the table the three share. It appears she is stopping herself from reaching out to the green-and-silver clad boy.

"What's Weasel doing here?" my godson grouses, his eyes averted to his lapel, picking off a non-existent piece of lint.

"You might recall I was there when you were crying about being alone and not having anywhere to turn," comes Weasley's somewhat gruff, but clearly concerned reply. "Despite our less than friendly history with you, Hermione and I won't stand by and do nothing while you so cavalierly waltz to your death. Whether you want this or not, Ferret, we're in this together."

Draco releases a humorless laugh, casting both Gryffindors a dubious look.

"There are always options, Malfoy," Weasley continues, undaunted, "and contrary to your Slytherin sensibilities, we are two people in your life, without ulterior motives, willing to help you."

I watch my prized pupil turn to give Weasley a look of pure Malfoy disdain before arrogantly belittling his companions.

"What exactly do the both of you think you're playing at? We aren't discussing how to rid ourselves of trolls and giant spiders here," Draco's voice has deepend a notch in his condescension. His usually controlled, emotionless demeanor is gone. His hand moves wildly between Potter's two friends as he seethes. "Neither of you have witnessed the sort of senseless evil I've seen exercised in my own home only months ago! In fact, Potter, and even the She-weasel, have more experience with this demented Riddle character than the likes of you two. I have no intention of involving you neophytes in this. Your blind willingness to be a part of this is ludicrous!"

The redhead clenches his teeth while Granger visibly tenses as Draco unintentionally discounts their largely unseen but immense roles in helping Potter stay alive all these years.

Miss Granger pauses to gather her wits before responding.

"What if we told you that there is a far better model than the both of us to help you deal with this life-threatening situation?" she suggests, surprisingly calm, considering her usual propensity toward contrariness involving anything my godson has to say.

She casts a nervous glance upward at me and again touches her throat.

It becomes immediately clear that she wants me to decide whether or not I will reveal my involvement in the Order of the Phoenix to Draco.

My mind travels to the vow I have with Lady Malfoy, using my own life to shield and protect her son. I think of how much Draco has come to represent the Slytherin I'd wished to be when I had been a Hogwarts student myself. I feel for him now as he finds himself at a crossroads, faced with the decision to become an imitation of his father or to shape himself into an entirely new man. I feel a wry smile form at my lips and feel an unfamiliar welling of pride in my chest as I view him now, so unlike Lucius, and so in need of a guiding hand to help him along this untested path toward a different sort of Malfoy manhood.

I feel Minerva's watchful eye and think also of the bushy-haired young witch below. I wonder what would have become of Draco, and even me, had it not been for such bloody interfering Gryffindor witches.

Coming at last to my pivotal decision, I move swiftly to my feet. My ears perk to young Malfoy's continued protestations as I place my hand on the door handle.

"If you're meaning Dumbledore, Granger, I refuse to go to him with this!" I hear the Slytherin shout as I leave the small, hidden room to rush downstairs. I push open the heavy classroom door and catch the tail-end of Draco's both fearful and furious exclamations.

"-- asking of me! If there was even the remotest indication that I had spoken to the Headmaster, my mother's life will come to a torturous end! I will not place her in that sort of peril! I will not entertain such a foolhardy risk!"

Finally making my way inside, I am greeted with Miss Granger's grateful, withering smile.

"Professor!" the three exclaim in unison, coming to instant standing attention.

I note the horrified expression on my godson's face and the outright surprise in Weasley's.

"Granger, Weasley, Draco," I say unperturbed, moving quickly to cast a Muffliato.

"Sir! I was--"

"Draco, sit down," I command, interrupting what would likely be a pathetic, though I'm sure creative, explanation for being in a room in the company of these two. I make an impatient gesture toward a nearby bench and wait impatiently as the other two take their cue and join the haggard Slytherin, who seems frantically intent on discovering a means of escape.

"Miss Granger is in the right of things, Draco," I say, for the first time allowing some gentleness in my tone. I know this allows a minuscule crack in the veneer of the reputation I'd so carefully cultivated as one of the most despicable teachers at Hogwarts.

"P-Pardon, Professor?" stutters the usually self-confident blond.

I clear my throat meaningfully and meet his confused stare straight on.

"There is some information about myself that Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley believe you should know," I cast a stray glance at the other two now staring owlishly at me. "I believe this knowledge that I am willing to share with you now will assist you in deciding which side you will fight on from here on out."

Draco's mercurial gaze reflects his confused state. His mouth is still downturned.

"I am more than what I have allowed you to see, Draco," I say carefully. "Among us Slytherins, the smartest know to keep our friends close, but the most cunning among us learn quickly to keep our enemies closer."

My godson nods and appears to be toying with the message hidden in my statement. I wait for him to speak.

"So, Professor," Draco asks after a period of prolonged silence, "is my father your friend or is he your foe?"

I raise an eyebrow at my protègè.

"Your father is not someone I would count among my friends, Draco."

The boy's physical response is interesting. Instead of slumping, he straightens in his chair. I can almost see the machinations in his head as he finally comes to the only conclusion that might explain why I am with the three of them and not serving all of them life-long detentions for simply being caught alone in a room together.

"Do you mean to suggest, Sir, that you are secretly working against... against Voldemort?!" Malfoy at last gasps. Draco is a sharp one and it seems he's managed to piece most of my story together without me having to spell it out for him. It's at times like these that I truly appreciate the very Slytherin-ness of this boy.

I watch Draco grip the bench, seeming to steel himself against the shock of the words he expects I will bestow on him, another revelation that's sure to turn his understanding of right and wrong upside-down.

"I am not making a mere suggestion, Draco. I am telling you that I have been working against the Dark Lord for some time."

Granger smiles in relief as Weasley gapes. My godson makes instant eye contact with me and refuses to let go. I see both betrayal and the tiniest spark of hope in his stormy gaze. I purse my lips and make a decision I hope I will not regret.

"Now you know, Draco, and I do believe it is time that we make everything known to Professor Dumbledore."

**

* * *

Nothing's an accident...  
POV: Hermione

* * *

**

The tension is thick in the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore calmly feeds Fawks some tidbit or another. He appears completely unruffled by our intrusion.

We three students sit shoulder-to-shoulder in straight-backed chairs. Snape and Dumbledore stand before us. The blond to my left hasn't stopped shooting daggers at his greasy-haired godfather since leaving the prefect meeting room.

Despite Snape having exposed his role with The Order, there is open refusal, and a fair amount of confusion, still plastered all over the ferret's defiant face.

"Tell the Headmaster what you know, Mr. Malfoy."

This is Snape's third reiteration of the same request and it no longer resembles the gentle prodding he'd given Malfoy upon us being welcomed into Dumbledore's office.

Ron and I sit silently, scarcely breathing. I try to hide all emotion as I watch the face-off between Snape and Malfoy. At last, the Slytherin beside me lets out a dramatic sigh. The sound heightens the tension in the room and has me quelling the urge to smack him for his surly attitude.

"Headmaster, I am here at the behest of my godfather, Professor Snape," comes Malfoy's overly polite tone, spoken through clenched teeth which emphasizes his continued refusal to comply with Snape's orders. "My godfather has done precious little to assure me that my presence in this office will not put my parents in mortal danger, therefore, I remain unconvinced that speaking to you will serve my family well."

Though this must be an absolute bizarre set of circumstances for him, Malfoy musters up just enough aristocratic haughtiness to give both professors pause. Perhaps this is the ferret's coping mechanism when backed against a wall by his superiors.

"I told you the reason for this meeting, Draco," Snape curtly interjects. "Since you decided to involve _these_ two, this is the most sensible option available to us now!"

Snape casts a most scathing glare at Ron and myself. His exasperation is palatable. We squirm uncomfortably under his dark-eyed scrutiny. Apparently, Snape hadn't bargained on Ron's and my involvement in helping Malfoy out of his still-undefined predicament.

Malfoy does not appear at all placated by Snape's less than comforting explanation about why he is being asked to divulge his deepest and darkest secrets to Dumbledore.

"He better do a bloody hell of a lot better than _this_ to convince me to say another damn thing," Malfoy mutters under his breath.

It looks as though Snape is consciously keeping himself from rolling his eyes at the boy beside me. It also seems as though everyone in the room clearly heard Malfoy's rude and outright defiance of Snape's command.

Through it all, the Headmaster smiles benignly.

Clearly unnerved by his ward's behavior, Snape strides angrily to the middle of the room. I inch away from Malfoy as Snape bends menacingly toward the blond, placing his hands on either side of him, curling his talon-like fingers on the chair's arms.

I tense, truly frightened for Malfoy.

"This is _your_ story to tell, Draco," Snape says in the sinister manner he usually reserves for Harry. The young Slytherin's eyes darken to pewter, his eyebrows knit, disliking this new tone. "I sincerely hope you do not force me to do the telling. Explain yourself to the Headmaster, Draco. Now!"

"Professor Sna-," I begin, earnestly sorry I'd ever thought to involve him. I try not to curl into myself as Snape slowly turns his head, barely acknowledging my undesired presence.

"Granger, I do not need you to fight my battles for me." Malfoy's sardonic voice reaches my ear before I can finish. It is the ferret's obnoxious tone that evaporates my desire to protest against the abuse I thought I'd unintentionally leveled on him by involving Snape.

It is not lost on me, however, that though his words might imply Malfoy still possesses his unique brand of arrogant self-confidence, his inability to look beyond the hands in his lap for any length of time indicates he is not unmoved. The silence after his admonishment of me is more than uncomfortable.

"Clearly, Granger," Malfoy continues, twisting the fingers of both his hands around one another, "my godfather is supremely annoyed that I might have put his life in further danger by telling you and Weasley about the problems that continue to keep me up at night."

Snape continues to stare darkly at his favored student.

"And what has brought on your bout of insomnia, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore inquires gently, speaking for the first time since we've entered his space.

"Headmaster, I _can't_ tell you... _my mother_..."

"_Your mother_ is _helping_ me, Draco," Snape offers impatiently. The three of us stare at him in open-mouthed shock. Professor Dumbledore appears to wear the tiniest of smiles.

I am not the only one who notices how Malfoy's baleful gaze momentarily falls upon Snape once he's recovered from the unexpected declaration. Seems he's at last made up his mind to follow orders to speak.

"Professor, there are two tasks set before me by the Dark Lo--, by v-Voldemort. The first task is to restore the gateway between Borgin and Burkes through the vanishing cabinets." Malfoy admits this hesitantly, darting a questioning look at Snape, who gives him what I can only surmise is meant to be an encouraging nod. "This will allow Death Eaters a passage into Hogwarts."

Malfoy's head is bowed. I fail to quell an outraged gasp. How dare he and Snape manipulate me into participating in this diabolical attempt at a hostile takeover of Hogwarts!

"The second, Sir," Malfoy continues reluctantly, his pale fingers threading and re-threading as he makes his quiet confession, "I regret to inform you, Professor, that Voldemort requires that I... I... I kill you."

Sitting to my right, Ron grabs at my hand. The both of us don't bother to hide how appalled we are at Malfoy's final anguished proclamation.

Snape places his hand on his godson's shoulder as Malfoy haltingly speaks the rest. "If I don't accomplish what is set before me, Sir, I fear for my mother's life, more so now with this bit of news from Professor Snape. If I fail, my father will most likely experience a dementor's kiss, though he might have to undergo that horror even if I..." his bravado fails him as his last words are inaudible. He heaves another sigh and regains his voice. "If it gets out that I've told you any of thi...."

We all wait silently for him to continue. He does so after releasing a fearful, ragged breath.

"Either way, Professors, I know Voldemort is convinced I will die in my attempt to please him. It is His way of punishing my father. It is the expected outcome if I am to protect my parents from a similar fate. You should, however, be aware that I have been trying to disentangle Granger from this mess for weeks now."

Malfoy bothers to shoot me a nasty look for continuing to pepper him with my furious requests to be reinstated on the project.

I open my own mouth to argue but am quickly silenced with a quelling look from the Headmaster. This leaves me to wonder at his measured reaction to the Malfoy's chilling divulgences. Dumbledore appears neither shocked, nor appalled. My eyes round as his wizened face cracks in a rather genial smile aimed at Malfoy. I frown as the Headmaster's hand reaches out to us, jiggling a glass candy dish. I quickly put a staying hand on Ron's arm as he attempts to pluck up one of the goodies.

"Lemon drop, Mr. Malfoy?"

"P-pardon, Sir?!" The shock on Malfoy's face is almost laughable had it not been so awkward a segue from his alarming admission. There is a stunned silence during which Fawkes squawks a demand for more food bits.

"Are you not afraid for your life, Professor?" I finally burst out, unable to stay quiet while the others continue to gape.

All eyes turn to me and I flush at the attention.

"You are here, Miss Granger, of your own choosing," Dumbledore's piercing stare meets mine. "I should ask _you_, are you not afraid for _yours_?"

I am taken aback at his use of the Socratic method. Then I make the startling awareness that I cannot hide anything from this wizard. His penetrating gaze informs me that he knows _everything _about me_._

I dare to attempt to hold the Headmaster's gaze, but am the first to falter. I turn away with a small pout for my weakness of being unable to stand up to authority.

_Fine! Point taken._

"She's right!" Malfoy suddenly shouts in an eruption of emotion. "For Merlin's sake, you should _all_ be deathly afraid! What in blazes is wrong with all of you?! You're putting your blind faith in a 16-year-old boy who has only a scarred forehead to speak for his ability to rid us of the most powerful dark wizard to walk the earth!? Even _I_ know more about neutralizing dark magic than Potter does!"

Dumbledore stands and Malfoy quiets.

"There is only one thing that can fight against the sort of dark power Tom Riddle wields," says Dumbledore interrupting Malfoy's rant with an unusually strong voice that seems to hold some reprimand. "You, Draco, do not yet possess this power. You are correct, however, that there is much to fear. Yet, the potential threat you pose to my life, though troubling, is not among my most pressing concerns."

Obviously offended, Malfoy's eyes narrow.

"I got this far, didn't I, Professor?" Draco says bitingly. "They thought I'd die in the attempt to accomplish even this much. But I fixed it... with Granger's help, admittedly. But now, all that's left..."

I frown at the sound of my name and end up scowling at Malfoy for nearly forgetting to credit me with most of the work that will apparently serve to save his sorry hide.

"I have been aware of your tasks, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore says, sitting back in his chair. "Miss Granger's assistance in your endeavor is not an accident, nor is your presence here with Professor Snape unexpected. It seems to me that you are standing at a fork in the road. One choice could illuminate your darkest fears and perhaps even dispel them."

I watch Malfoy scowl as he takes in this information. I feel my own mouth tighten to mirror his.

Professor Dumbledore smiles indulgently at Malfoy again. I continue to fume as I realize the indignity of unknowingly being used as some sort of brainy pawn in Dumbledore's complicated gameplay.

"I've come to the conclusion, Draco, that you must continue as you have been, just as though this conversation had never occurred."

There is a look that passes between both Dumbledore and Snape that the blond misses because of the inner turmoil which has him staring at the floor.

"But, Headmaster, I..." Malfoy's protests fade when at last he looks up to view the two older men before him.

"You are not the first to be presented with such an opportunity, Mr. Malfoy," states Dumbledore. When Draco turns to stare at Snape, I feel the Headmaster's gaze upon me as he speaks his next words, "Nor will you, I imagine, be the last."

I take a moment to stare quizzically at the Headmaster. He turns away and I shift my focus onto Malfoy who is now quite unlike himself. I watch him allow Dumbledore's confirmation of Snape's role with The Order wash over him. His hands tightly grip his chair. His head is bent, eyes downcast. A lone tear threatens to fall as he considers what is being offered to him. He angrily wipes it away.

To my left, sitting beside me, is Ron. I study the muscles in his jaw work as he silently watches his former adversary take in all this.

"The choice is before you, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore gently observes. "As you contemplate which way to go, take comfort in knowing that you are not destined to become what you have only known all your life. What matters most, Draco, are the choices you make today that will ultimately shape who you are to become tomorrow."

The confusion and apprehension in Malfoy's silver gaze is nearly painful to observe.

"But, Sir, you just said that I am to continue on as I have been. Do you mean to ask that I work as some sort of double-agent for you? How can you believe that I have the ability to keep up such a pretense?" The pitch of Malfoy's tone heightens with each posed question. "Do you understand, Professor, that you are asking me to work with some of the most feared Death Eaters, _faking_ that I still intend to bring you to your ultimate end? You do realize this is what Riddle wants me to do to _you_ if I am to preserve my family's safety?"

Malfoy lets out an unfamiliar sound, much like a whimper, and distractedly rakes his fingers through his now unruly hair. I am reminded of his wretched helplessness in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"May I ask, Headmaster, how in Merlin's name am I to manage such a feat?"

There is a miniscule up tilt to the Headmaster's lips as he witnesses Malfoy's distress.

"Professor Snape will instruct you on such matters. Understand, Mr. Malfoy, this must be something you come to willingly. As far as all of us in this room are concerned, your task, as given to you by Tom Riddle, has not altered in the least. Think it over, Draco, and do let me know by this time tomorrow what you've decided to do."

Dumbledore then rests his gaze on Ron and me. "This discussion will not leave this room," and with a stern tone he adds, "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, you will keep these proceedings from Mr. Potter. Draco deserves as much discretion and security in this matter as that which has been afforded Harry."

He waits for us to agree. I half worry that he'll insist on a Vow of Confidentiality. But as soon as Ron and I nod our assent, Professor Dumbledore turns his back to us.

It's a clear indication that this peculiar meeting is now over.

**

* * *

Too many lemon drops  
POV: Draco

* * *

**

After a nearly three hour meeting with Snape that lasted late into the night, and then another one earlier this afternoon, I arrive in the Headmaster's office within twenty minutes of my appointed time. I've chosen to follow Snape because I've always reluctantly admired him and for whatever reason this choice makes me feel less confused. Even though I'm completely flummoxed by recent events, the one thing that hasn't changed is my realization that I am increasingly at odds with my father's whole Pureblood belief system. I am particularly infuriated that he'd allowed himself to be at the beck and call of that half-blood, Riddle.

The Headmaster regards me benevolently. Before he can ask about my decision, I insist that a written contract be drawn up, guaranteeing that so long as I follow Snape's lead, my family will be given the same level of protection as the Weasleys and Grangers. I also ask for his guarantee that my new role will not be shared outside of the people involved in the initial meeting.

Though there is the obvious need to ensure my safety and that of my parents through complete confidentiality, my vanity has me shuddering at the idea of Potter knowing about my involvement in The Order. I fully expect The Boy Wonder's eventual showdown with Voldemort to turn ugly. I, therefore, don't want my name to be part of Potter's arsenal of insults during his sure-to-be heroic soliloquy as he brings the Dark Lord to what I hope will be his ultimate end.

In my worst imaginings, news of my defection to Dumbledore's side would allow Potter to lord it over me. I can not stomach the idea of him relishing my change of heart as some sort of personal victory. Besides, the last thing I need is for Scarface to open his trap about this during any sort of public confrontation where my housemates might hear. Such a revelation would make me even more of a _persona non grata_ among my Slytherin brethren! Things are bad enough for me in my common room already!

To my great surprise, Dumbledore puts up no protest at my demands. I suppose he's done the same for Snape and my request is therefore quite reasonable.

He then goes on to what seems to be an in-depth interview, assessing my skills and knowledge of Voldemort's base camp and gathering of followers. He also makes it a point to ask about my magical abilities outside those taught at Hogwarts.

Thanks to Snape, he knows I am a practiced Occlumens. I assure him that my wicked Aunt Bella, through her skillfully cruel use of a wand, taught me to fight off many of the most potentially sinister spells and powerful curses that Voldemort could place upon my person, including two of the Unforgiveables: the Cruciatus and the Imperius.

After what feels like an eternity, the Headmaster leans back into his chair, signaling the completion of the fact-finding portion of our interview.

"I daresay, Draco, I am quite impressed with the immense amount of courage you've come to display this evening," Dumbledore says, after we've finished with formalities.

"What I'm doing here is hardly worthy of accolade, Sir. I am far from courageous," I reply, embarrassed by the unexpected adulation. I had expected an altogether different reaction from the old goat to my admission yesterday evening. I'd been thinking more along the lines of receiving a one-way ticket to join my father in Azkaban.

"You are here because of duty, then," he asks quietly, "only duty?"

"If there is one thing I know, Sir, it is how to be dutiful." I shift uneasily on my feet as I watch Dumbledore fumble around with one of his desk drawers.

_Why does it feel as though I hadn't answered his question properly?_

"It can hardly be deemed courageous to spill my worries to Granger and Weasley in the manner that I did, Headmaster," I admit wearily, turning to ease myself into one of his sitting chairs before even being offered a seat. "I am certainly not proud of my ever increasing ability to show my greatest weaknesses when it seems strength is required."

"I beg to disagree, Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps you've never considered that courage is simply the willingness to be afraid and to act valiantly in spite of the fear."

Dumbledore places another sweet lemon drop in his mouth. A look of pleasure spreads across his face and I cast him a bemused glance.

Examining this aged wizard and his distressingly blackened hand, I think of all the times he must have been called upon to show unwavering courage and strength during his lengthy lifetime. I wonder how many times he might have been as heart-stoppingly afraid as I've been since my father's fall from grace.

The crackling fire causes me to think of my father sitting in his den at the Manor. A wry smile twists at my lips as I recall his penchant for grandstanding and his carefully crafted methods of intimidation when outside the manor. I sigh, thinking how much different Father had been at home, sometimes so opposite the man he portrayed when he was off Malfoy grounds. Father had been nearly insane with fear since Voldemort's return. As a result, he'd kow-towed to that madman, making decisions that ultimately put Mother and me in danger rather than place us in the safety he'd so wished to guarantee through his working with Voldemort.

I shake my head at Father's professions of honor-bound duty to preserve the Malfoy name. Though I'm just now learning that his support of Voldemort is all sorts of wrong, I fail to see what is honorable in giving up his allegiance and beliefs, only to swiftly reclaim them at the smallest hint of Voldemort's return. According to Snape, in the aftermath of the First War, Father managed to outwit the Ministry by being one of the first to claim he was under Imperius. Though he was one of the deadliest Death Eaters in Voldemort's entourage, this absolved him of any wrongdoing. An act I find unworthy of our family name.

I'll never forget the sight of him groveling at the foot of his Dark Lord during this past summer. How, despite Mother's pleadings, or even a word of warning to me, he'd turned me over to that most vile wizard like some sacrificial lamb.

It seems Father sets his sails to whichever wind blows the hardest and jumps ship at the first sign of trouble.

I don't know how to feel about this new insight.

_Heartbreak_ does not begin to describe what it feels like to be left with the discovery that the infallible man I'd adored is in actuality a lowly and terribly misguided coward.

Professor Dumbledore interrupts my dark musings with a loud throat clearing, "A-hem."

I shift my gaze to him.

"Despite your reticence and well-placed fears, Mr. Malfoy, I am of the mind that you have chosen well in your decision to follow in Professor Snape's footsteps." I notice his good hand rests on a strange wooden box that hadn't been on his desk before I'd started thinking about Father.

Naturally, the Headmaster's comments lead me to think of all the times I've panicked and fled when threatened. I am hard pressed to remember one single moment I ever stood and acted against my darkest fears. The flames flicker on the hearth as I sift through my memories for just one time I might have acted nobly to assist someone beyond myself.

My thoughts stray to Granger and I scoff a little. I remember hesitating when we'd made that vow, not wanting to be responsible for her safety. Stubborn witch that she is had tightened her grip on my hand, wordlessly daring me to let go. To further complicate matters, when I did finally realize how dangerous it might be for her to participate in the cabinet project, she'd refused to allow me to keep her out of harm's way.

That little gnat of a witch wouldn't even accept my help when I'd told her it was for her own safety!

Beyond _that_ sorry attempt at selflessness, however, I am chagrined to discover there has been no other time when faced with a danger that I had not turned tail and run. Even at Hogsmeade, I couldn't stand up to my Aunt Bella and protect Katie. I'd excused my compliance by convincing myself that in playing along I would cause the least harm. And, look where that got me--closer to the likes of Granger and Weasely, questioning the reason for my very existence and now becoming a double agent against the very people my father wants me to serve.

Disgraceful.

Or is it?

I hang my head, realizing how often I'd followed my father's lead, all bluster and bravado, throwing around money to capture what we believe is our pure-blooded right. Even Snape, my slimy git of a godfather, is more courageous than my father and me put together.

This elusive thing called courage is apparently not part of the Malfoy credo that has been bred into me from the cradle.

"I assure you, Draco, your understanding of Slytherin values will allow you to see the truth of things more clearly than most. What you must remember always, my boy, is that in the most dire situations, not everything is as it seems."

I watch the Headmaster lift the wooden cube from his austere desk. It is large enough to house one of Trelawney's smaller crystal balls. With his wand, he levitates it between us. I stare at it in curiosity. It is beautiful in that age-old magical way. The power surrounding it can be felt even from where I sit. It is covered on each side with letters and numbers. There appears to be no rhyme or reason to them.

I cock my head at the oddity and realize I'd seen a similar object in my father's office this summer. I'd determined it was only a sort of puzzle to pass the time when he could no longer stand looking at the family ledgers. I try to recall why I'd think such a thing and remember Zabini coming into the common room last year holding a multi-colored Muggle toy called a Rubik's Cube that he'd snatched from Finch-Fletchley. Yes, Dumbledore's and Father's cube looked very much like a larger, wooden version of the Muggle toy, except for the carved letters...

and numbers...

and the lack of colors to match...

and the fact that you don't twist it round and round to discover the solution.

_Well, perhaps it isn't a toy, after all,_ I think dryly.

"What is it, Professor?" I inquire at last.

Dumbledore smiles at me and waves his wand so the cube lands gently on my lap.

"It is a gift, for you, Mr. Malfoy. One I hope you will find useful as you continue to walk this untrodden path you've set for yourself."

I internally curse the wrinkled wizard for his preposterous enigmatic statements.

"What am I to do with it, Sir?" I ask, forcing myself to remain calm. I play with the cube a little to distract myself. I see how the numbers and letters light up after I press a fingertip to them.

"Why, use it, of course," he says with a shrug, popping yet another lemon drop into his mouth.

I note a twinkle in his eye that annoys me to no end and feel the onset of a temper tantrum. I work at not yelling at the old coot by absently trying to light up all the letters and numbers on the cube all at once.

"Do you know, Draco, that some Muggle vows, when spoken from the depths of the heart, are stronger than any one of the most powerful magical vows that bind us witches and wizards to one another?"

_Come again?_

"Pardon, Professor? I'm afraid I don't follow."

Instead of stopping to explain, Dumbledore continues his maddeningly perplexing babble.

"The words of this Muggle vow are known throughout the wizarding world, but few of us ever fully comprehend their meaning. I believe, Draco, you may be the rarity among us who is intelligent and cunning enough to discover the secret of these words. Such a vow, Mr. Malfoy, can sometimes be used to answer one of life's greatest puzzles."

I stare at him dumbfounded.

_He'd given me a clue!_

I paste a placid expression on my face as I race around in my head, swiftly tucking the information he'd relayed into the folds of my memory so I can peer at these tidbits more closely when I am alone in my room.

_Two can play this game._

"I've noticed you quite like lemon drops as opposed to the more traditional sort of sweets, Headmaster," I say distractedly, still concentrating on memorizing his earlier words.

He smiles and nods.

"I've recently discovered that I don't like them very much," I add slyly, watching curiosity light in his eyes.

"Why ever not, Mr. Malfoy?"

With a gleam in my own eye, I send him a mischievous look without answering right away. Only a blink later, I've completed my task of mentally filing away his cryptic information and come to a standing.

The wizard sends me another kindly smile and I catch sight of that infernal twinkle again.

Grasping the mysterious cube in my hand, I make to leave.

"Thank you for the gift, Headmaster," I say with an equally genial smile, tossing the cuble into the air and catching it again.

_Too light to be a solid wood piece._

With a wave and a "You're quite welcome, Mr. Malfoy," I am dismissed.

Before I go, however, I make sure to address the Headmaster once more.

"Oh, and as for the lemon drop, Sir," I say slowly before turning to the door, "they upset my expectations, presenting too much of a surprise for my tastes. I personally find them overwhelmingly disconcerting... for a sweet, that is."

I wave my farewell and hear his appreciative chuckle as his office door slowly shuts behind me.


	19. Sacrifices

**Stubborn witch...  
POV: Draco**

**

* * *

**

_Warning: There are some M parts here when Draco tells Hermione what it would be like if caught by Death Eater_s.

* * *

I planned on revealing the secret prophecy to Granger on the evening of her little surprise intervention. It took me another couple of days after my last meeting with the Headmaster to overcome my annoyance at the meddling witch, and another to further gather up the nerve to ask about her friend, Emmanuelle.

So tonight, I move forward with my alternative plan that involves zero adults with convoluted agendas.

With any luck, I'll be able to convince Granger to allow me to meet her squib friend during the forthcoming winter holiday. I hope that with her go-ahead and my irresistible charm this one meeting might just allow me to present the female Slytherin heir to the half-blood psychopath on the Yuletide. This alternate plan, I sincerely hope, will forestall any need for real double agent work which might put me on the receiving end of an Avada.

It is Granger's and my night to patrol together and I pull her into an empty classroom at the end of our rounds.

"What is it, Malfoy?" she huffs, still enflamed that I had not been completely forthcoming about _everything_. Observing her stance, I know she is also annoyed that I had not only interrupted, but completely ignored, the lecture she'd inundated me with for the last hour. It is her customized 10-step plan that outlines how I can make myself a reformed wizard.

_Right._

"Granger, remember in the library a few weeks ago, when I told you there is something that I need to tell you that you are not going to like?" I ask, purposefully ignoring her foul mood and her impatient toe-tapping.

"I thought you already told Snape and Dumbledore everything?" she snaps, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "I was there, Malfoy, remember? What other dark confession could you possibly have that I won't like?"

My hand toys with the smooth item in my pocket, the one I planned to show her.

I stumble around in my head for the words I had practiced saying to convince her of my capability to protect her friend from Riddle's insanity. At this moment, I whole-heartedly believe I have this power. Whether I'll be able to exercise it is an altogether different question.

"Granger-"

"I already don't like the sound of this, Malfoy!"

"I haven't even said anything, yet!" I say, exasperated by her vexing attitude.

"It's your _tone_," she snips.

"Look, Granger-"

I stop short to stare at the shiny "P" of her prefect badge, keeping myself from speaking the threat that forms in my head. I try again, more calmly this time. "Granger, there is another way to defeat Riddle."

"What?" she asks, suddenly curious and alert. "You said I wouldn't like this, Malfoy. How could I not like this?! Why didn't you tell Dumbledore and Snape? Does Harry still have to risk his life?"

"I did not tell the professors because even Voldemort does not know about it. That being the case, I am of the mind that the less people who know, the better. I did not speak of it the other day because it needs to stay between you and me. I promised my–" I stop, figuring any mention of my father might ruin any chances to get her to cooperate. "Granger, it is a matter of life and death," I insist, "Just– you just can't tell anyone else, _especially_ Scarhead."

Despite my desperation to regain Granger's trust, the Slytherin in me smiles inwardly as I watch her frown at the sobriquet I use for Potter.

"If I could keep you out of this, Granger, I would. But you are already a part of this. You're a _crucial_ part," I add earnestly. "As for Potter, he, unfortunately, stays relatively safe. But that remains true only if you help me," I improvise, not entirely sure I'm telling the truth.

"Who risks their life, then?"

I sigh loudly at the opening she gives me.

"_Who_ risks their life, Malfoy?" she prompts impatiently.

I look away and draw in a long breath. "Your friend, Emmanuelle, may have to risk her life," I say quickly, hoping somehow that the speed of my admission might lessen the shock.

"What?!"

"There's a prophecy about _her_. My father gave it to me before he went to Azkaban. He told me to solve it and I would not have to send the Killing Curse at Dumbledore, " I explain quickly, pulling the orb out from under my robe and hand it to her.

She sends me a skeptical look.

"Look at this, Granger."

The orb glows bright in the darkness of the abandoned classroom and her eyes go wide.

**"There is one, a Slytherin heir, **

**who will be the Dark Lord's most effective weapon **

**against the one who threatens to vanquish him.**

**He shall use her to weaken and overcome the powers of The Chosen One. **

**For she alone can ensure that the one marked as His equal will not survive–"**

She looks stupefied, as if I'd asked _her_ to come meet Voldemort.

Granger casts me a strange, nauseated look before speaking at last.

"So, it's about m-my friend, then," she stutters softly. I notice her voice hitches and she's dropped her gaze from mine to again focus on the prophecy in her hands. I do not concentrate on her obvious discomfort, since my mind is spinning, trying to find words that will convince her to allow me to meet the Slytherin heir.

"It appears so, Granger. I am asking you to get me close enough to your squib friend, Emmanuelle, so I can bring her to…"

She fiercely shakes her head before I can finish. I hang mine, not bothering to fight her instant resistance. I'd come into this conversation knowing that her unwillingness would pull the wind out of my sails. I figured it was a long shot anyway.

It had taken this long to convince myself to think of Granger's friend as a non-person. Still, the idea of putting an innocent at Voldemort's feet makes my stomach churn. Granger's refusal is just enough of an excuse to allow myself reasonable satisfaction that I had tried, for my parents' sake.

_So, into spy work I will go. Fear be damned._

My breath hitches and I let the terror of what's to come wash over me. I watch wordlessly as Granger falls against a nearby wall and sinks to the floor still holding the prophecy in her hands. I move closer to her, fold my legs and slide down to sit beside her.

We stay like this, silently staring at the glowing orb.

I think for a moment that it might not be so bad being a Muggle without any idea of such things as dark magic… so long as I was a _rich_ Muggle, of course.

_That, perhaps, might not be so bad. _

So deeply am I wallowing in my escapist fantasies that I fail to realize Granger's swift movement from dumb shock to stubborn resolve.

"Forget about involving Emmanuelle, Malfoy, you'll just have to take _me_ to Him."

Her strong voice after so long a silence startles me. I stare at her, not comprehending her words.

"What? Granger? Have you entirely lost your mind?!"

"If you take me to Him, to your Dark Lo--"

"HE. IS. NOT. MY. LORD!" I interrupt savagely.

"Voldemort, then," she continues undaunted, though I see her flinch against the rough sound of my angry declaration. I dislike seeing the stubborn rising of her chin. I either want to pull her to me or shake her to make her see sense. I can't decide which will work to shock her out of this madness.

"When you take me to _Him_, Malfoy, will it save _you_?"

_Bloody, blindly brave, self-sacrificing Gryffindor!_

"Are you daft, woman? He'll kill you, Granger!" I exclaim, exasperated by her unnecessary bravado. "And, you're not even the girl in the prophecy!" I add, purposefully avoiding her question.

"But, Draco, bringing me to Him, if He believes I'm the girl in this prophecy, _will it save you and your family_?"

I startle at her use of my given name. Even so, I still refuse to entertain the question in my head. Her annoying know-it-all self, however, easily surmises the truth of her words.

"What if He finds out we've lied to Him?" I whisper, horrified at the real possibility. Her stubborn determination seems to strengthen with each of my objections. I work to keep my mouth shut while I sort out the best way to attack her reckless conviction.

A torturous memory of a nameless Muggleborn hanging lifeless above our dinner table at the Manor, fills my mind. I cannot shake the haunting memory of her tormented eyes.

"He doesn't have to know that I-I'm n-not what Emmanuelle is," she says with irritating certainty even though her eyes still refuse to meet mine. I notice she fidgets with the orb, turning it over and over in her hands. I attribute it to her agitation at my refusal to comply to her insane idea and her worry for her squib friend.

"You can't even begin to imagine how viciously wrathful He is, Granger! This is not a game! This is not school books! This is not practice! This is _life_, yours... and mine," I argue, moving back to the comfort of surnames. "He is evil personified, powerful to the nth degree, and He would see through the ruse in less than a second! You're absolute rubbish at lying!"

"But, He'll believe _you_," the ignorant fool beside me cries, as I start to pace the room agitated beyond belief, searching for a way to shake her from the insane idea of substituting herself for the squib.

_Why hadn't I expected that she'd come up with this idea? Probably because never in a million years would I have ever thought to do what she so willlingly desires to do now!_

"Read it again, Draco! It doesn't say a thing about protecting Harry," she argues. "In fact, this implies that if I help you, it will likely bring about Harry's impending death."

I honestly hadn't thought further than the point of me presenting this Emmanuelle person to Voldemort and hightailing my mother and me out of the manor to some distant corner of the Wizarding universe.

"He won't hurt me, Malfoy! Think about it! For Merlin's sake, stop fighting me!" she continues passionately. "Think like a Slytherin! You know that with this prophecy He'll believe He needs me as a weapon against Harry! Why would Voldemort kill me with that knowledge?! Honestly, I think if you take me to Him, we'll have a real chance of ending this before any violence can start, maybe before Harry even has to face Him!"

I send her a dubious look telling her she's lost all sense. "We have no idea how to properly kill this crazed half-blood wizard who seems to keep coming back to life, Granger! I suspect it is doubtful a simple Avada Kedavra will do the trick in His case."

"Malfoy, we can make this prophecy work to our advantage! Voldemort doesn't have to know about Emmanuelle. _You_ can make it seem as though _I'm_ the girl in the prophecy!" Again there is a halting quality to her protestations.

_What is she hiding?_

"You seem to hold a lot of stock in my ability to lie to the most accomplished Legilimens of all time!" I shout, incensed, frustratedly raking my hand through my hair, still wracking my brain for a way to make her see reason.

"Why on earth would I allow _you_ to meet Emmanuelle knowing where you'll take her? She'd be defenseless!" Granger retorts loudly. "At least _I'm_ equipped to protect myself!"

She looks strong, stronger than I've seen her all year. She's got her wand in hand and claims a wide-footed stance. I see the hidden power there. Muggleborn. Magical. Incredibly foolhardy in her loyalty. Stubborn to a fault.

I continue to shake my head, stilling my legs.

"Malfoy, you know I love Harry! He might be acting like a right arse towards me since I've befriended you, but I would never, never hurt him. Never! This is a good plan, Draco!"

"I've agreed to no plan, Granger," I seethe. I sniff at her undying, naive optimism while wincing at the sharp pain that blooms into a dull ache in my chest at hearing her utter the words _I_ _love_ and Potter's name in the same sentence.

"That psychotic half-blood doesn't have to kill you, _Hermione_," I bellow at her, purposefully using her given name to throw her off her game, just as she so adeptly used mine against me earlier. It infuriates me that, though terrifying, her words are beginning to make sense. It equally aggravates me that she's showing much more courage in this moment than I could _ever_ possess in a lifetime.

I begin my pacing again, sifting through my vast rhetorical and debating skills for a plan. I at last decide to fight fire with fire. She's giving me her reasons for doing it, well I'll let her in on the horrid truth of why I won't allow it. Then, at least academically, she'll understand what she's in for by asking this of me.

"The Dark Lord could cast Imperius on you or any number of other vile things. _Rape, Hermione!_ Not just of your body, but of your mind, your very soul! And, understand, it won't be just _one_ Death Eater that does these things to you, but _many_... more than one at a time, even! You're talking about inviting torture, Hermione! And, I'm not insinuating anything here. Riddle likes the sight and smell of blood. He thrives on the screams of pain from Mudbloods. You are a Mudblood to Him!"

_But not to me, not anymore, _I want to tell her, if only to ease the pain I see flash in her eyes as I say these words, but I can't show her this emotion, not now when the truth seems to be sinking in.

"Have you ever felt the sting of a whip, Hermione?" I shout. "How about chains? Ever been tied up, deprived of water, light, food, air? All the things that keep you alive? He'll strip it _all_ from you!"

I shudder violently against the thoughts and sights that flash in my head. The descriptions of all of these horrors tumble out of my mouth with the sole purpose of scaring her witless with the truth. I watch as my words slash into her. I relish the sound of her disbelieving gasps. I rejoice in her looks of fear. Each sound, each worry line etched in her forehead convinces me that my arguments are working.

Unbeknownst to me, however, due to my supreme ignorance of Gryffindor values, I've only managed to strengthen her resolve with my warnings. I'd unintentionally managed to convince her to go through with her hair-brained scheme to protect others from the horrifying fate I've just mapped out for her.

Powerless, I watch the stubborn light in her eyes gleam brighter. I cringe against the thought of my mad aunt coming anywhere near this particular Gryffindor. If there is anyone who could extinguish the fighting spirit I'd come to respect in Granger, it would be my Aunt Bella.

"He and His kind know no mercy, know no remorse. What they do know is how to so thoroughly curse and torture you that you'll beg loudly for the cold comfort of the Kedavra. Granger! Be reasonable! You're usually really good at that!"

I gasp inwardly at the undesired image of her feminine form having to undergo any of the horrors I'd seen over the summer. I push aside the more malevolent, vile things the Death Eaters in my house so gleefully discussed over tea, the very things implanted in my head that still keep me up at night.

It is my turn to let out an anguished cry.

"Granger, did you ever stop to think that I might have actually meant it when I took that bloody oath to protect you?! Have you even thought of that?"

She stares at me meaningfully as she replies, "Yes, I have, and I meant what I said, too! I took that same oath to protect _you_, Malfoy. Your life hangs in the balance! More so than mine! Don't you dare ask me not to do anything to prevent your possible demise, Ferret! You've given me an opportunity not only to relieve the death sentence on you, but to also be able to alleviate the danger that surrounds Harry as well!"

"NO! Hermione! I won't do what you ask!" I bellow, irritated and thoroughly confused by the inner-workings of her mind. "NOT EVER!"

I catch her contemplating me as I turn my back to her, leaving her to her thoughts.

"Well, if all you're concerned about is my safety, Draco" her prissy, bossy voice grates on my very last nerve, "then you're simply going to have to be there to protect me from all that, now, won't you? And besides _that_, you can teach me how to avoid and resist those curses and things you've seen… or find someone else we can trust who can teach me better than you can."

_Why haven't I yet internalized how big a mistake it is not to engage her ever-working mind when we argue this way?_

I stare at her in wide-eyed terror. I'd seen the Carrows and other powerful Death Eaters resist the Unforgivables, but not without horrifying side-effects. I know what it feels like to undergo the training that would keep you relatively safe from such dark magic.

_I couldn't do that to her!_

"You don't know what you're asking! You have no idea the things I've seen, Granger!" I say on a near scream. "On top of all this, you insult my magical abilities?!" Unbelievably, I still somehow strum up the energy to be infuriated with her suggestion that I am a less powerful wizard than I am.

I take in shallow, shuddering breaths. The emotions roiling inside of me threaten to make me heave what little there is in my stomach. Desperate to regain my footing, I reach for the dispassion inside of me that can even keep Snape out of my mind when he attempts Legilimency on me.

When I find the frozen calm in my mind's grasp, I turn to search her gaze again.

_She is too good to be exposed to such depravity. I cannot let her become corrupted by Riddle's lunacy._

"Granger, I will not subject myself to watching those deranged maniacs do such things to you," I announce arrogantly, with as much regal finality as I can muster.

She hasn't moved from her fighting stance. She doesn't blink, doesn't seem to hear reason. I know then that my arguments have done little to change her mind. Viewing her outrageous defiance makes me lose the tight reign I hold over my fear for her. I turn away quickly to mask my concern, but even with my back to her, I'm still visibly upset. I work to quell my shaking hands and the tremors that steal over my body.

Clearly unnerved at my violent reaction to her resolve, Hermione comes up behind me and places her arms around me in a gesture of kindness and comfort that I've rarely experienced from another soul in my relatively short life.

It is not lost on me that the only other time she'd ever voluntarily touched me, while she thought I was conscious, was when she'd slapped me during Third Year after I'd insulted her precious gamekeeper. Not knowing how to respond to such compassion, particularly from her, I ease myself out of her embrace, but out of what I've convinced myself is simple curiosity, I keep her within touching distance.

"Granger, you do not have to do this. I do not want you to do this for me or for my family," I whisper, fearing any more would release a torrent of emotion I would have trouble living down. "Why, for Merlin's sake, would you want to put your life in jeopardy for the likes of _us_? We have only been heartless and cruel to the likes of you."

Confusion rings clear in my response. Hearing no reply from her, I regroup, searching for a better point to make. I begin my argument as soon as I discover it.

"There is a limit to the amount of Gryffindor compassion that I can stomach, Granger. My family would sooner throw you to Fenrir Greyback than stick out a little finger to help you. The protection of my family is _my_ responsibility, not yours_,_" I argue quietly, focusing my strength now on accepting my unclear fate under Snape's tutelage. "Besides, by all accounts, Potter will eventually unseat the Dark Lord, and you will not have to be involved at all."

I turn a soft gaze toward her and am shocked to find the blasted witch glaring at me!

"Of course I'll be involved, Draco! Either way I'll be involved! This way just seems the most sensible course of action."

"Bah! You're barking!" I roar, my stare hardening again. "So you'd go in there, wand raised, prepared to die for the likes of Potter?"

I'm seething inside at the idea of her playing martyr for that orphan with a hero complex.

"No! I have no intention of making this a kamikaze mission."

I startle at the strange Muggle word. She notices my confusion.

"This won't be suicide, Draco. Listen, at least this way I'm choosing the battle for myself, right? If you and I …and maybe even Ron, work together, the three of us can ensure Harry is safe through it all. You're right, we can't tell Harry. He'd stop us altogether and since it's _you _we're working with... well, I honestly don't know what his reaction would be."

"Not a good one, I assure you," I scoff, shaking my head at her reasoning.

"But, Ron could help!" she insists.

"Weasley?!" I snort, disgusted. "Granger, we don't have to tell anyone, because we are _not_ doing this!" I yell again.

I stare at her, trying again to control my fury at her stubbornness and to search for another less emotional retort. With some surprise, I discover that I just might be going about winning this debate the wrong way.

_If force, anger, and the ugly truth isn't working, why not try the unexpected?_

"You do not know what you are asking, Hermione," I say gently, placing my hand atop hers, which found it's way to my forearm when I'd called her insane. She startles at my change in tone and her gaze turns suspicious. As a desperate measure, I grasp her fingers in mine, that now deliciously familiar electricity of our touch rockets through us, and with satisfaction I watch her brown eyes dilate, before turning downward to focus on my fingers clutching at hers.

"You have no idea what you're in for, Hermione," I say throatily, purposely making sure she hears a husky sound. She whips her gaze to meet mine, unsure now what to expect. "What you are asking me to be witness to ... what might become of you... what you are asking me to withstand, if you don't survive it... I can't... I won't do it, love."

She blinks at the pet name. I, too, am quite surprised I'd used it. For Merlin's sake, I'd only just started getting over the shock of hearing her call me by my first name! I set aside my thoughts on this for another time because if my use of it works, to convince her then all the better. I move to release her.

She grabs hold of my hand before I can pull away completely. Her fingers latch onto mine and I again startle at the power of her innocent touch.

Suddenly, looking into her upturned yearning face, I find it to be too much. Too much touching, too much sharing, too much... too much Granger for me to handle. I try to extract myself from her grasp, but she will not let me go. We make eye contact and she smiles gently. My breath hitches as I come to the stunning realization that I really don't want her to release me and I really don't want to let her go.

"Yes, you will help me do this, Draco. You _will_ take me to Voldemort," she continues calmly, pushing through any previous discomfort at my intimate choice of argumentation.

"You are so bloody stubborn! You can't boss me around, Bookworm," I seethe, pushing her away again.

Her insolent smirk in response is altogether too much like my own and it bothers me that I might have rubbed off on her in even this smallest of negative ways.

"Stop looking at me like that. I told you, NO, Hermione!"

"You will, Draco!"

"Why should I, Granger?! I know better than you!" I hear the unintentional whine in my voice as I start to feel the helplessness I'd sometimes felt as a child when I wasn't given my way. I know I'm losing ground on this particular battle and losing it fast.

"You do NOT know better than me, Malfoy!" she shouts. I look down at the pointer finger of her hand that isn't holding mine. It is now a hairsbreadth from poking at my chest. "You will do this because you know you need me to help you get out of this mess with Voldemort. You don't want to do the double agent spy thing with Snape."

I glare at her for guessing right about my reticence on _that_ matter.

"... and," she adds after taking a breath, "you know you've no choice but to help me through it because _you_ care for _me_!"

I whip my head up to make eye-contact.

The bloody witch then has the audacity to offer me a saucy smile! I stare at her open-mouthed. I'm stunned that she had discovered the secret that I'd tried so desperately to keep hidden away from even myself.

I stand stock still as she moves closer, her robes brushing against mine. I am nearly cross-eyed staring at her approaching mouth.

_Too close. _

She places both hands atop my shoulders, her face inches closer to mine.

_Too much._

I stop breathing as she pulls herself on tiptoe. I close my eyes, waiting for an experience I'd long dreamed about.

_Granger._

I groan feeling her mouth, not land against mine, but brush against the sensitive side of my ear. As if her touch isn't enough to send me spiraling into madness, her whispered words give me the next shock of my life.

"…and, Draco, I am going to do this because I care for you," she purrs, moving her hand to swipe the fringe of hair that fell across my brow during our verbal duel. "So, stop your worrying, _love_."

I feel the comfort of her warmth surround me and just as quickly she is gone. I open my eyes to see her by the door, smiling coyly at me.

"I need to go find Ron," she announces, shaking me out of my reverie, "then we'll meet you. I'll owl you and the three of us will come up with a plan together."

I shift my gaze to rest on her and wonder how my world could change so drastically that I would think that involving Weasley might just be _exactly_ what I need to do.

It's difficult to accept that I'm actually considering partnering with the redhead to talk Hermione out of this. But in all practicality, he has known her longer, and with both him and me telling her she's gone completely nutters, she'll stop insisting that I put her in the direct line of fire.

"Are you sure we shouldn't include Potter in this delightful meeting as well?" I sneer, toying with the idea that I would even make _that_ sacrifice if such an alliance might keep her out of harm's way.

"Heavens, no! Harry would never let Ron and me involve ourselves like this! He probably wouldn't mind _you_ going off to Voldemort yourself, though," she smiles sadly at me, "but certainly he wouldn't allow me to go!"

Potter obviously has no idea the strength that flows in this courageous witch, a strength belied by her slight frame. He is a right idiot for not seeing it, but perhaps his ignorance is bliss. Obviously, he'd fight tooth and nail against her insane proposition unlike me, who'd just so easily caved in to her impenetrable will, knowing she'd have as good a chance as any to emerge unscathed from the serpent's lair.

Hermione turns toward the door beckoning me with her head to follow.

I look at her bossy little self, bushy brown hair, slight figure, and it occurs to me that maybe, just maybe, Potter might be the better man for her after all.


	20. Curses

**You Are You, Always  
POV: Ron

* * *

**

"Ron, thank Merlin you're here!"

Hermione bursts into the common room, plopping herself across from me at the wizarding chess set I'd set up to play with Harry. He hasn't come back down from the dorm room yet to join me and that was more than a half hour ago. I'd been keeping my eye on the doorway and hadn't even noticed Hermione's entrance until she called out to me. I watch her cast a spell that sounds like _Imperturbatum__**!,**_ a new one we've learned. Like the Muffliato, it serves to keep our conversation away from curious ears. It's just without the annoying buzzing sound.

"Malfoy showed me something that I need to tell you about!"

She's nearly bursting with excitement and pride. I haven't seen her this animated all year.

"Gods, Hermione," I groan, smiling inwardly, "I've agreed to help you and him. I can even accept you two fancying each other, but honestly, I really don't want to know what you two do—" I further my teasing of her by scrunching my facial features to show outright disgust.

Her fists clench and land on her hips in almost perfect imitation of my mum when she's angry and indignant.

"Ronald Weasley! It's nothing like what you're thinking! What is it with you boys? Always thinking about sex?"

"It's mostly because we're in our sexual prime, but can't figure out how to get any," I laugh, absently moving one of my white pawns. I slide a glance at her and am encouraged to see she's smiling, a good indication that I've helped restore her good mood. "So, what are you so excited about?"

I am still trying to wrap my head around the idea that Malfoy is a good guy now. Since I'm not yet entirely convinced Snape's on our side, this poses complications concerning my acceptance of Malfoy, being that Snape is the ferret's primary advocate. I look to my friend and am reminded that Malfoy also has Dumbledore and Hermione vouching for him. Considering this, I suppose _their_ support for him should be enough to placate my remaining fears.

"Malfoy's shown me a new prophecy that is about _me_, Ron, the female Slytherin heir!"

"So, you've finally clued him in, have you?"

"What?! Telling Malfoy about being adopted, you mean? Gods, no, Ron! Malfoy thinks the prophecy is about my parents' birth daughter, Emmanuelle," she says, annoyed I'd even thought she'd reveal the truth to the ferret. "Malfoy still has no idea of my ancestry."

"Hermione, why don't you just tell him?" I sigh. "Wouldn't being around him be so much easier without all the secrecy and lies? It seems to me, he's pretty much come clean to you."

"Ron! Haven't you been listening?! _I don't want Malfoy to know_!"

"Why not?" I ask, suddenly weary at having to continue keeping so much of this under wraps and away from Harry, and now, Malfoy.

"It's complicated, Ron."

"That's code for you being too stubborn to see reason, Hermione," I mutter.

She huffs and moves one of the black pawns on the board, almost like she's serious about starting up a game with me.

"Is it because you don't want to admit to him that blood really might matter?" I ask, stoking her anger, poking at an obvious sore spot. "Are you afraid to tell him because you know you're a Slytherin, _just like him_, and you have been one all along?"

I watch her eyes flash, then, to my surprise, her head bows.

_Seems I've struck a nerve._

"I can see, Hermione, how you wouldn't want Malfoy to think that his frustration with not being able to best you has been misplaced all these years," I gentle my voice, attempting to tease a smile from her. "But, Hermione, has it occurred to you that you're _Salazar Slytherin's heir_? And because of that, you're destined to be greater than any Malfoy, or any other Slytherin for that matter? Come to think of it, Hermione, this secret of yours, it's rather... _fantastic_... isn't it?"

She frowns at me as I reverently whisper my little epiphany. Seems she's thought of it a lot, too, and has come to an altogether different conclusion.

"I rather liked being known as the smartest witch of my age, and a Muggleborn one at that," she retorts proudly. "I've worked so hard all these years here at school, Ron. This sudden revelation makes me question whether Malfoy's had it right all along."

"Do you mean to tell me, Hermione," I say, keeping my eyes on my chess piece, "that your refusal to tell Malfoy the truth is because you don't want to allow him the satisfaction of saying, 'I told you so?'"

I dart a glance at her face, which is flushed red with embarrassment.

"Silly isn't it?" she manages after a bit of throat clearing. I nod and wait.

"Ron, do you think that blood actually might matter? I wonder..."

"What, Hermione?" I prod gently. "What do you wonder?"

"I wonder, if I'd be just as smart as I am even if I weren't Slytherin's heir. I wonder..."

She sighs and the look on her face makes it crystal clear to me now. I remember her initial worry of which she'd spoke when I'd been in the hospital wing. Finally, I know what's been keeping her up at night.

"Do you wonder if you're destined to become a dark wizard, Hermione?"

Her brown eyes go round at my speaking the words she can not. She nods, then, ashamed.

"Ron, there's not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin," she sucks in a breath after speaking the well-worn words all us Gryffindors can recite like a mantra.

"You've lost your identity, then?" I ask softly, trying to joke, reaching for her hand and gripping it tightly in mine. "Can't figure out who you are anymore, Hermione? Worried you'll be the next Voldemort?"

She looks at me horrified. Then, her gaze softens and in her eyes I see some gratitude for my voicing of the fear that's been tormenting her. My inappropriate teasing lifts her lips in a reluctant, yet relieved smile.

"You will always be Hermione. Daughter of dentists. Muggle raised. The most clever witch I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and the best friend, the most caring friend, a bloke could ask for," I say forcefully, squeezing her fingers in emphasis. With my other hand, I stroke her hair, cup her face and move it to view mine.

"You are _good_, Hermione. Everything you touch turns into something good. Look at me! Look at Malfoy! He's the worst of those repulsive snakes and he's actually somewhat decent, now that he's spent time with you. It doesn't matter a damn bit what sort of blood runs through your veins, Hermione! You are you, and you will always be wonderful. I mean it! Always. Hermione... never doubt that."

She sends me a dubious glance under the shelter of her half-lidded eyes. I tug on her hand again.

"Look at me, Hermione! All of this stuff about Slytherin being all bad is House rivalry trash talk. It doesn't matter a whit. It's the person you are inside that determines how you answer the call of dark magic."

She blinks at me owlishly. Then, she sends me the widest smile I'd seen her make _ever_, well, except for the one she'd made over Malfoy's blasted flower. She releases my hand, gets up and launches herself at me. I catch her in my arms.

"You're the best friend a girl could ever have, Ronald Weasley!" she says breathlessly, her face radiant as she pulls me into a tight hug. Abashed, I grab her up by the waist and sit her down next to me, my arm still slung around her shoulder.

"So, what's this thing Malfoy showed you? And, please, tell me it doesn't include disrobing."

She elbows me in the side with an uncharacteristic feminine giggle.

"No, it's a prophecy. It was in the form on one of those glowing orbs. You know, the sort that came crashing down on us at the Ministry last year?"

"Yeah," I say, trying not to think about what had flashed through my mind when I thought I saw her lifeless body lying on the ground that day. I'll never forget how Harry nearly lost all focus, nearly fell to the Dark Lord himself when he'd seen her fall.

"Dra- ah... Malfoy had the orb in his pocket. It's a secret prophecy. Lucius gave it to him before getting carted off to Azkaban. It's Malfoy's ticket out of the hell his father's put him in. He can use this knowledge to get out of the tasks he's been given. If I help him, he also won't have to work alone as a double-agent, which will surly be a debacle if you and I aren't somehow involved. If we help him, Ron, we can help Harry, too!"

"So, what's your role in this, Hermione?" I brace myself for the worst.

"The prophecy talked about how, as the Slytherin heir, Voldemort could use me as a weapon against Harry, weakening his power and bringing about his end."

"Merlin, Hermione! No wonder you're so worried!" I exclaim, alarmed. "Voldemort will want to use you to kill Harry?!"

"I know, right?!" she says excitedly, nearly jumping up and down in her seat. "You know what this means, don't you, Ron?"

I am at a complete loss and can't begin to fathom why she is so happy. I want to retract everything I said before. I didn't realize she was thinking of learning some dark magic to duel Harry or whatever madness was going on in her head!

_Stupid Harry, why'd he make her so mad at him? Is she really so mad about his behavior that she'd try to hurt our friend?! _

"It means I can fight, Ron! I don't have to do Harry's bidding in this. He can't make me stay home and be safe, claiming the fighting is too dangerous and all that, leaving me to the books and scholarly work! I can make a true difference by allowing Voldemort to think that I am on his side, when all the while, right under his nose, I'll be working to protect Harry! Think about the possibilities, Ron!"

"Wait a minute, Hermione," I say with caution, "Are you telling me that somehow you're going to convince Malfoy, _without telling him the whole truth_, that you're are the one he'll be taking to Voldemort?"

She pecks me on the cheek and hugs me again.

"You understand! I knew you would!" she beams proudly at how well I'd been keeping up with her exuberant explanation. "In fact, Ron, I've already convinced him that bringing me to Voldemort is the only way he can get what he wants and you and I know Malfoy always does what is to his best advantage."

_Selfish git._

"He didn't put up a fight then, I take it," I seethe through clenched teeth.

"Oh! But, he did!" she replies with a frown at the memory of it. "We fought for at least a half an hour! He finally saw sense, though, as soon as I mentioned you might be willing to help us pull it off."

I sigh and rub my temples.

_Not as selfish as I thought, then. Smart, though, I've got to give Malfoy that. By pretending to agree with her, he'd relieve himself of what was sure to be hours of Hermione trying to convince him to see it all her way._

"Hermione," I say with both relief and warning, "Malfoy _hasn't_ given in to you. It's just his way of gathering troops. He knows I won't agree to putting you in that sort of danger any more than he can. You'll see." She frowns at the possibility of being outwitted.

"He didn't mention telling Harry, did he?" I ask lightly.

She pouts at my last question, not answering, which, of course, means the ferret had done the right thing and asked to include Harry.

"Malfoy _did _agree with me, though!" she insists. "At least, I _think_ he did. It _is_ the most sensible thing to do! He'll get what he wants out of it, and Harry will be protected in the bargain!"

She shrugs, still sitting beside me. She turns to face me, sending me a silent, _So there!_

As she lifts the Imperturbatum, I see Harry's shadow darken the doorway. He's clutching something in his hand and I recognize it immediately as the Marauder's Map. I look at his face to quickly gauge his mood.

_Not good._

"Hermione," I turn to her before she catches sight of Harry. I quickly think of a way to get her to leave the room without turning around to see him. "Don't you have some studying to do, upstairs? Or in the library?"

"What? No, Ron," she says smiling up at me, her back still to Harry. "I've finally caught up. I'm off the project and everything's all sorted out. So, I can finally just sit and be with you!"

Harry clears his throat to announce his presence. The sound has her freezing in place.

"What about _me_, Hermione?" Harry's tone is dark and dangerous, putting Hermione instantly on guard. I watch her further stiffen as he approaches her. I come to standing, ready to pull her or push him away, whichever is speedier should they start to fight again.

"What about _you_, Harry?"

I wince at her sharp tone, too.

"Why were you with Malfoy in an empty classroom for nearly forty-five minutes, Hermione? I thought your project and tutoring sessions with him were over."

The stubborn lift of her chin has me interjecting before she can start on her tirade.

"She had prefect duty with Malfoy!" I shout. Both turn to stare at me, surprised at my overzealous attempt to ward off another fight between my two best friends.

"In an _empty_ classroom for forty-five minutes," Harry's tone is sarcastic at best. "Right, Ron. I'm sure that's _exactly_ all they were doing."

**

* * *

POV: Hermione

* * *

**

"Are we starting this again, Harry?" I reply wearily, too tired of this argument to be exasperated. "Stop spying on me. I don't have to answer to you!"

He strides toward me, shoving the now unfurled map in my face, pointing at the outline of the classroom I'd been in with Malfoy. We are toe-to-toe and I am breathing so hard in my anger that the map sways to and fro in front of my nose.

"This is getting old, Harry," I seethe, pushing his hand and the map away. I can't imagine why my being with this now-changed Malfoy raises such ire with Harry. I figure this is not exactly the best time to ask him. If i were thinking clearly, I'd realize Malfoy hasn't exactly done anything to cause Harry to change his opinion of him.

I lift my eyes so I'm staring into Harry's unrelenting gaze. I see Ron behind him, ready to pounce if Harry so much as lifts a finger or crosses the line with any forthcoming insults. We both know that our friend isn't cautious with others' feelings, particularly mine, when he's this worked up.

"You're behaving like a jealous boyfriend, Harry," I state simply. "This is _not_ how a best friend behaves."

I look at Ron for some support. He pulls it together just in time to come through for me.

"She's right, Harry. It's just the ferret. It's not like he's Voldemort! Hermione's said herself that there's nothing going on between the two of them. Why don't you believe her?"

"Then, tell me what you and Malfoy were talking about in the classroom for nearly an hour," he demands.

My eyebrow rises at Harry's liberal interpretation of time.

He still hasn't moved himself out of my personal space and when I try to ease out of the circle, his hand shoots out to grab onto my shoulder.

I swat at Harry's hand, but he tightens his grip. I let out a sound of protest and watch Ron start to launch himself forward. Ron stops himself as soon as he sees that I've latched my fingers around Harry's pinky finger and am wrenching it backwards toward his wrist. He lets out an agonized yelp and releases me.

"Hands off, Harry!" I scream. "You lost the right to touch me as soon as you decided I was untrustworthy! My conversation with Malfoy is none of your damn business, and if you'd just calm down for a moment, you'll see how barking mad you're behaving!"

"Really, mate," Ron says softly. "You've seriously got to calm down." I don't know why Ron's gentle tone further infuriates me.

"It's not always about _you_, Harry!" I shout, at last releasing my annoyance at his overprotective, overbearing lunacy. "Malfoy's my friend! Get over it!"

I know I can't be a pretty sight as I screech at him. The truth is his mouth curled up in a snarl isn't all that attractive either.

"I would get over it, Hermione," Harry shouts, inching ominously closer, "if I could just get over _you_!""

Ron and I still.

_What? What was Harry saying?_

"I _kissed_ you! Or don't your remember?" Harry proclaims to all and sundry, drawing closer to my livid, quivering self. His roughened breath ruffles the hair at the top of my head. Fortunately the common room is empty, save for us. "I thought I made myself fairly clear about my intentions toward you, Hermione."

I watch Ron shift uncomfortably. I straighten and launch my argument denying the truth of his sudden proclamation.

"That might be true, Harry, but at Slughorn's party you dumped me onto McLaggen as soon as you saw Malfoy leave with Snape," I reply hotly, poking a finger into his chest, pushing him back a little. "I thought you were using me to get closer to Malfoy! You've been stalking him since we got on the Hogwarts Express, Harry! And, your sudden interest in me picked up only when you saw Malfoy and me spending more time together."

My fury seems to have shaken Ron out of his silence.

"It's not a leap to believe you'd use whatever means possible to further your own cause, Harry," Ron says, picking up where I leave off. "It hadn't been a stretch to believe that you'd even walked around with mistletoe in your pocket for an opportune time to corner Hermione and snog her senseless as a ploy to get Malfoy, who at the time seemed joined at the hip to her, out of whatever hole you'd thought he'd crawled into."

"You come up with that theory all on your own, then, Weasley?"

I startle at Harry's sneering tone, completely unbecoming of the future savior of the wizarding world.

"Harry! Stop it," I shout, now protective of Ron. "It's not like our assumptions were made without your bizarre behavior fashioning most of our conclusions!"

Harry moves backwards to keep both Ron and I in his sights.

"Let me lay it out as plainly as possible, then, Ron and Hermione. I fancy you, Hermione, like a boyfriend fancies his girl. I can't accept that you've decided to be friends with my foresworn enemy who would turn you over to Voldemort in a heartbeat if he had the balls to," Harry's tone is noticeably chilled.

Not quite the tone you want to hear when someone is telling you they want you to be their girlfriend, I think wryly. I shake my head.

"You have no idea what Malfoy has had to do..." but my protest peters out as I catch Ron's shaking his head vigorously, shooting me a warning look.

"_What_, Hermione? Malfoy's had to do _what_?!" There's a dare and frustration embedded in Harry's inquiry.

I turn my gaze to my toes. "Nothing, Harry," I mumble, remembering my promise to keep Malfoy's situation confidential.

Ron's been noticeably silent through this part of Harry's and my heated exchange. Even so, Ron appears just as frustrated by our inability to tell Harry everything.

"So, now what, Hermione?" Harry asks, suddenly less confrontational.

"What do you mean, Harry?" I ask, confused by his swiftly changing moods.

"Will you stop seeing Malfoy?"

"For you? Just because you've asked me to?" My voice holds the incredulity I feel toward his request which actually seems more like a command.

Unmistakable hope gleams in Harry's eye despite the note in my tone.

"Yes, for me," he calmly replies. "Yes, Hermione, stop seeing Malfoy because I'm asking you to."

I steel myself for what's sure to be Harry's violent response to my inevitable answer. Ron knows what my answer will be, too, and he prepares himself. I can see the muscles in his biceps bunching.

"No, Harry," I whisper. "I can't do that for you. I'm sorry. Malfoy needs me."

I watch Harry's mouth fall open in utter shock. "Herm—"

As the meaning of my words hit him, Harry's glazed look hardens into an icy stare. He glares at me as he tries to close the space between us again. With the speed of a practiced athlete, Ron places himself between Harry and me before he can come any closer.

"You, too, Ron?"

With Ron's imperceptible nod, a dark savage look crosses Harry's face.

"HE'S DONE SOMETHING TO THE BOTH OF YOU!!" Harry roars. "Some potion, or some hex! You two are my _best_ friends. You would _never_ betray me like this! Never! I told you, Hermione, hanging around Malfoy is dangerous and now that Slytherin git has done something to you! To BOTH of you!"

Ron and I exchange concerned glances as Harry starts to move erratically around the room, his voice quavering as he dissolves into some sort of hysterical madness.

"_Accio Marauder's Map!_" He shouts suddenly. Before we can move to grab at him, Harry slams out of the common room, obviously on a murderous hunt for one blonde Slytherin.

"We've got to find Malfoy before Harry does!" I shout, pleading and pulling at Ron.

"OK, Hermione! I'm coming!"

**

* * *

More Upset  
POV: Draco

* * *

**

"Draco! Where have you been?"

"Professor?"

"I've a message from Voldemort, Draco."

I brace myself for the worst as Snape leads me to a lesser used part of the dungeons, far away from the Slytherin common room.

"You will receive the Dark Mark in a matter of days, during the Yuletide. It is His command."

The shocking reality of this sends what feels like ice water coursing through my veins. I thought I had until the spring before this unwanted coming-of-age ceremony.

Internally, I hurl curse after curse at my father for making such poor choices. I try not to allow the venemous anger to rise in me as I bitterly think of how I now have to live with the consequences of my father's misinformed beliefs.

I take a deep breath before speaking.

"Professor Snape," I say, pleased that my voice is not shaking despite the fear that makes me want to quake. "Should I be afraid?"

His fathomless black eyes grab hold of mine, reflecting the faint licks of fire from the torches that light the outside hall. Snape's frown deepens before his lips firm into a thin line.

"Yes, Draco."

"If I refuse it, Professor?" I whisper, fearful of the answer.

"The Dark Lord has sworn he'll take your mother as his own," comes Snape's swift and cutting reply, "and your father will feel the dementor's kiss in Azkaban."

I stifle a horrified cry. The expression on Snape's face, pitying, fearful, protective, yet helpless stops my very breath.

There is nothing left to say, so he turns to sweep down the dank corridor. He rounds the corner and is out of sight.

I listen to the constant drip of water hitting a shallow puddle where wall meets floor. With a sob caught in my throat, I turn on my heel, discovering that my feet know how to make their own way to a very familiar part of the castle.

**

* * *

For Enemies  
POV: Draco

* * *

**

_a/n: though this has been following the book, this subchapter uses Harry's quote in the motion picture's rendition of the Sectumsempra scene, starting in the bathroom. _(HP: HBP, 2009) All else conforms to the book plot line.

Potter's deathly glare meets my bleary-eyed gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

"I know what you did, Malfoy. You hexed her, didn't you?"

I immediately reach for my wand, not bothering to wipe my eyes, instead blinking back the tears that had begun to form before my nemesis' rude intrusion.

I don't really know who Potter is on about, nor frankly do I much care. His pettiness over Granger has grown tiresome these last few weeks, especially with the other, immensely life-changing decisions I now have to consider. What I manage to concentrate on is his wand aimed threateningly at my chest. I want to maim him badly but know that a Crucio placed on The Chosen One is something my new allies, particularly Granger, will not forgive. I suspect even Voldemort would punish me for throwing an Unforgivable at his prized catch. I aim lower on Potter's body to shout out a _Castreo, _thinking it easier to bring him to his knees and render him useless while I make my way out of the loo for a more private spot to nurse my fragile mental state.

In retrospect, I suppose I should have chosen a hex that did not start with the same letter as an Unforgiveable.

I can only get out a "C-!" before Potter sends a non-verbal my way. There is something amiss about him. He seems out of control with his wandwork and the number of hexes he's throwing at me is more than excessive.

He is angry, enraged even.

It's difficult for me to concentrate on this duel. My mind is still reeling at the news Snape unceremoniously dropped on me just minutes earlier. My current emotional turmoil keeps me from thinking clearly, unable to fathom why Potter's trying to curse me into the next century.

All I know is that I am afraid.

Terrified is actually a better word.

I fire off a random hex that pops into my mind.

_"Ablattero!"_ I shout. As soon as it rolls off my tongue I have to mentally slap myself.

_That's right, Malfoy, make The Chosen One blabber himself to death._

After a summer of training with the most practiced Death Eaters, I already know that _this_ ridiculous reaction is how fear, combined with an onslaught of emotion, affects me. I groan at my idiocy and my inability to keep a straight head in battle when I am like this.

Meanwhile, I hear Potter fire off an _Affligo_ and a _Dimentica_. The latter probably wouldn't do much to me since very little happiness exists in my life, but his use of such a dark spell has me scuttling for cover.

So, this is how fear affects Potter.

Swift to anger.

Hot-headed.

Quick to violence, at least lately, when the fight is about Granger.

I have been where Potter is. I know that place well. But unlike me, it seems this is one of the few times Potter's forayed into all-encompassing fury. He hasn't been taught how to reign it in, that there are other ways to show no mercy than to fire off dark curses willy-nilly.

His rage has claimed him.

It is finally Potter's use of Dolohov's nasty curse, the _Imprecari_, that has me understanding that this is no ordinary Potter versus Malfoy duel. My enemy means to hurt me and hurt me badly.

The additional shock of this further addles my brain with paralyzing fear. I can barely think of useful curses to send at Potter, much less summon up the taunts, which are my fortè, to engage him in a verbal sparring match that might make The Boy Wonder reveal his hiding place to me. The splashing of his footsteps in the water that is now pooled all around the bathroom floor sends my heartbeat skittering.

_What did I do to deserve this outrageous attack?_

A feeling of abject helplessness washes over me. It calls to mind the heart-pounding, dreaded panic that claimed me during most of this past summer. Despite it all, I withstood the hated lessons that eventually taught me to fight off Unforgiveables aimed at me by Aunt Bella and the Carrows.

As outrage against this rush of unwanted memories of the worst summer of my life wells up within me, I itch to send a Crucio toward Potter. Even shouting out the Avada doesn't seem so bad right now as I dodge yet another one of his curses that leaves a gaping hole in the wall next to my head.

Water is pouring out of it. I'm drenched.

My heart slams against my chest. These emotions--fear, sadness, confusion, and fury--swirl together, threatening to consume me. I can't operate properly like this, so I step back into a protected, darkened corner to take a calming breath. I push aside the feeling of being Potter's prey and fight ruthlessly to turn inward, groping around inside myself to at last clutch to the stillness I had been taught to seek out when practicing Occlumency. This calm at last surrounds me.

For the life of me, I can't believe my exhausted brain decides to focus on an image of a delighted Granger surrounded by blossoms in the Room of Requirement. Amazingly, the image settles my overwrought mind and I regain my focus.

Now, I am ready to search out my adversary.

In front of me, down the row of partitioned toilets, Potter breathes loudly from his efforts to maim me. He hunts me, laying waste to the marble and plumbing as he searches me out using curses I had not imagined he'd know. His energy is draining the magic in him. He will be easy to stalk now. But even so, no matter what he has tried to do to me or how weak he has made himself, I forcefully remind myself that I must not hurt him, this friend of _hers_.

In this fragile space of peace that I have carved out for myself in the midst of battle, I recognize that I do not have it in me to harm him if I cast an Unforgiveable. In fact, to do something so cowardly as to attack him with such a dark curse while he is so weakened would more likely do incredible harm to myself than to him. With this realization, I lower my wand.

_Maybe I can talk myself out of this, after all._

"POTTER!" I bellow from behind one of the loo partitions. I've thrown both of my hands up in the air in the universal sign of surrender. Hearing only silence, I pull myself out from behind my hiding place.

I hear a rushed splash of footsteps approach me, and he is in front of me.

_Bugger!_

The look in Potter's eyes is as wild as his hair.

_"Sectumsempra!"_ he roars. The eerie light that shoots out of his wand toward my chest has me gaping in wonder.

_Hadn't the imbecile seen I didn't want to fight any longer? _I bother to think this in that split second before the spell hits me. What the bloody hell was that he said?

Invisible swords, their sharp edges colder than any metal lash into the skin at my chest. I have no time to cry out, yet I hear a high-pitched feminine scream.

_Granger?!_

Surprised at the real pain that has me staggering on my feet, I bring my shaky hand to my chest. I touch my fingers to the place where I'd felt the icy blades cutting into me. The heat of my own blood covers my fingertips. Hoping I am wrong, I draw my hand back up to my face. To my horror, all I see is red.

"MALFOY!" I hear Potter's panicked shout as the edges of my vision go black.

_Damn it to all to bloody hell! That bastard Potter! He's gone and killed me!_


	21. Words Unspoken

_**Words Unspoken**_

_**

* * *

POV: Hermione**_

_**

* * *

**_

The high-pitched shrieks of "MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!" reverberate down the hall, bringing Ron and me skidding to a halt at the other end of the corridor that leads toward the boy's loo. A frantic ghost is wailing and flying straight at us. I have the strong urge to duck out of the way, but she manages to stop only inches away, hovering right in front of us.

"That wretched Potter boy's killed him! My poor Draco! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh! Hermioneeee! What am I to do? He'll never visit any longer because he's deaaaaad!"

Myrtle's hysterical crying clutches at my panicked brain and my stuttering heart. It crosses my mind that it could be that Draco might stay to haunt the place _with_ her, but I don't mention my thought since it sickens me to imagine such a future for him, if he is indeed dead.

"Go get Professor Snape, Myrtle!" I command. "STOP screeching at once and GO FIND SNAPE!"

Gulping, I watch her whisk away. My heart stops a beat.

_Malfoy, dead?_

"MALFOY!!" Harry's panicked cry reaches my ears. By the way Ron whips his head toward me, he must've heard Harry, too. We race toward the bathroom door. A copious amount of water flows out from under it, streaks of red filtering through it. The sight makes me shudder. Ron freezes beside me and I know he's seen the horrific sight as well.

I feel an icy cold sweep up against my back and realize Myrtle's returned with the aforementioned professor.

"Stay back!" Snape's commanding tone is non-negotiable.

We hear Snape's vicious growl at Harry and then what can only be a melodic recitation of a counter-curse to whatever's got all this watered-down blood rushing out onto the corridor's cobblestones. Beyond the door, we hear a boy's anguished weeping, and then Snape is in the hall carrying an unconscious, broken Malfoy in his arms. He's striding toward the hospital wing and I make to rush to his side.

Before I can take two steps to follow, I feel a strong hand grab my wrist. Tears are sliding down my face as I try to unsuccessfully yank myself out of Ron's vice-like grip.

"Hermione! NO, HERMIONE!" he shouts, attempting to reach my brain, which has shut down at the ghastly sight of Malfoy's listless body being half carried in Snape's arms.

"You can't go to him, Hermione!" Ron is desperately saying in my ear. "Hermione! No one can know about you and him. Remember?! 'Mione? _Remember?_ You'll only make it worse for him. His housemates _can't_ know! Their parents are Death Eaters. He'd be a sitting duck if they saw you weeping over him on his sick bed. Hermione! Are you listening? He'll be labelled a blood traitor. You _can't_ go to him!"

Ron holds me forcibly against him. His arms brace me against a grief that threatens to shatter and keeps me from throwing caution to the wind to chase after Snape and Malfoy, heedless of the consequences.

The incessant pounding of what can only be my own heartbeat in my ears has me dazed and only half-alert to the happenings around me. I am aware enough, though, to notice Snape's return, which could mean Malfoy isn't dead. _Or maybe he is... dead._ I cry out in frustration at my powerlessness to go and check.

Through a steady stream of tears, I spy a panicked Harry leave the bathroom shortly after the professor's reappearance. He belatedly notices Ron and me huddled together and turns to ask Ron something. Harry completely ignores my presence which is just fine by me. I feel Ron hand Harry something from the book bag at my side and with hardly a thanks Harry races off only to return with his own knapsack, stumbling back into the bathroom.

Minutes later, Snape bangs out of the door grumbling something that sounded like, "Damn, that Potter! Just like his worthless father! Roonil Wazlib, my arse!"

There hasn't been any movement since.

I sit with Ron, his hand still grips my wrist, worried I'll run off, I suppose. How long has it been?

Minutes?

Hours?

At last I am able to lift my head from Ron's shoulder to whisper the one thing that's been tugging at the edge of my consciousness.

"Where is _he_, Ron?"

"Who, Hermione? Draco? I haven't a clue. Mdm. Pomfrey's I suppose but we'll ask Snape later."

"_No_, Ron, where's _Harry_?"

"I dunno, he hasn't come out since Snape left," comes the stilted, sorrowful response.

I can't move. Can't think, really. I truly don't want to see Harry. I don't feel like listening to him fret over his reckless mistake. I've known him too long to know that this will scar him more deeply than the actual cuts he'd sliced into Malfoy. The more disturbing thing is that I find myself glad he'll suffer this alone without my shoulder this time. I am nearly gleeful that Harry may even realize how deranged and thoughtless he's been, and that what he's done to Malfoy, whatever _that_ was, may just leave a permanent dark mark on his very soul.

Despite my diving headlong into a morass of dark emotions, I am somehow able to understand that my grief over the sight of a possibly lifeless Draco has manifested into these fairly evil, vengeful thoughts. The pull of this powerful emotion is like nothing I've felt before. This alone is why I find myself not wanting to go to Harry straight away. I am so afraid of what I might do or say to him if he does decide to emerge from the bathroom with some sort of useless apology.

As I think this, I sense him come up to me from behind.

I can feel the rivulets of water that seep beneath my feet as he stands there silent and drenched.

I can smell him, the coppery smell of blood mixed with a woodsy scent that is uniquely Harry. It makes me want to vomit.

Funny, it's the same smell of post-battle Harry that I recognize after each of his run-ins with Voldemort. Each of those times, I'd thrown my arms around him in utter relief and joy to find him alive. At this moment, I find I can't summon the least bit of happiness that Malfoy hadn't been able to hit him with the smallest of hexes.

Harry offers no apology. I can hear him sniffle. His near silence stokes my anger. His tiny sorrowful sound reignites the flame of fury inside me. I close my eyes quietly reciting a spell to give me calm. I might as well have just counted to ten, for all the good that it did me. I have neither wand nor the necessary state of mind to cast such a charm. The mere act of chanting it quietly, though, does seem to keep me from attacking Harry and tearing him apart with my bare hands.

Ron, beside me, says nothing. I wait for something to happen that I can't even begin to define.

Then, I feel the weight of Harry's hands on my shoulders.

This is my undoing.

"GET OFF ME, YOU MURDEROUS CRETIN!" I screech, whipping myself around and away. His arms fall uselessly to his sides.

His eyes go wide with shock at my venomous attack. The panic I sense coming from him spurs me on.

"What _exactly_ was his sin, Harry, that you would try to kill him?" I seethe. "Was it just because _he_ wanted to be with _me_? Or was it because _I_ wanted to be with _him..._ over _you_?"

I watch his green gaze narrow, his mouth starts to pucker into a scowl of epic proportions. I continue on, determined to hurt Harry, because I cannot stand the agony of perhaps it being _my_ fault that this whole tragedy occurred.

"Does he deserve to die because you, _the Great Harry Potter,_ simply wills it so?" I yell, my chest heaving at the sheer effort of hurling the words at him. My ragged breathing fills the space between the three of us.

"Hermione–"

"DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME, HARRY POTTER! Don't you dare try to apologize," I'm half sobbing now, falling against a shocked-silent Ron as I rain down insult after insult on Harry.

"What sort of madman uses unknown curses out of scurrilous books? What you did to him in there was _not_ honorable!" I scream. "What on earth were you trying to prove? This attempt at unmanning Malfoy for no other purpose than to heal your damaged pride is not dignity, _Oh, Chosen One! _This is the worst sort of cowardice!"

I relish the grimace he involuntarily shoots at me. The next words that flash into my overwrought brain are ones I know I should not say because I know he might never be able to forgive me for them. Unfortunately, I am beyond censoring myself to spare his feelings. My fury has me spitting out the final blow.

"And your _father and mother_, Harry?" I hiss meanly. "_They_ would have been ashamed of you and what you did today!"

I hear Ron's gasp and Harry's sharp intake of breath as I grab onto Ron's sleeve to drag him along as I stalk back to our common room.

For what seems like hours, I fidget on the chaise in my worry for Malfoy. The open book on the sofa next to a napping Ron is long forgotten as I wait for word about his health.

Earlier, I'd strained to hear any sort of gossip from fellow Gryffindors making their way back into the dorm. All I've been able to gather is that Pansy is making a huge stink about the professors not expelling Harry for his use of a deadly curse. I silently praise her for this.

Who would have thought I'd ever side with Pansy about _anything_?

I also knew McGonnagall called Harry to the carpet. Upon his return, Harry's grousing signaled to me that he's still in complete shock and denial about having just cast a near unforgiveable curse. He was also being irritatingly blasè about having nearly killed Malfoy. According to Harry, and what seemed like the whole of the house, the worst thing to come of Harry's _unfortunate mistake_ was that he would be missing the big Quidditch match of the year. If you listened to the extent of his whining, he'd received the worst of it simply because he'd be serving detention with Snape for what might have as well be the rest of his godforsaken life.

During the thick of his complaining, I'd made a noise of abject disgust, mentioning that Harry had just about gotten away with murder. He then had the nerve to yell at me about my over-concern about his continued possession of that blasted book! We'd rowed about _that_ until he'd admitted he'd squirreled it away somewhere. Then, Ginny turned on me. I tired quickly of her naive arguments in Harry's behalf, deciding silence was the best way to handle my frustration.

Ron's face had been behind a book the entire time. I knew he hadn't been reading, just staying close to make sure Harry and I didn't do bodily harm to one another.

So now, hours later, the room had at last cleared and it is just Ron and me left.

I itch to make my way to the hospital ward. I'd tried three hours ago, under the pretense of needing a sleeping draught. I'd arrived quite undetected, only to be greeted with the sight of Pansy weeping over a still unconscious Malfoy. Something akin to envy twisted deep in my chest. In her grief, she hadn't seen me enter and I beat a hasty retreat.

Though I ache to go to Draco, I know my Disillusionment Charm isn't good enough for such an excursion. After all, I dare not use it outside of nearly closed bathroom stalls. I want to tear out my hair in complete frustration. I attempt to push aside my distress by trying to think of a way to go to him, and that's when I hear the sound of footsteps to my right.

I don't need to look up. I already know who it is.

_Harry_.

Wordlessly he approaches. I move my face to view him. My expression shutters, but not before I notice how he claims an expression of agonized repentance. At last he's wearing _the_ exact pained look I'd been waiting to see from him. I _needed_ to see him this way to remind myself why I still want to call him my friend.

I stare at him, this boy, nearly a man. His eyes tell me he's only just begun to struggle with what has come to pass today. He'd been in fight mode since it happened. The reprimands have only poured salt into his self-inflicted wounds. I know Harry's impulse to shout out against his attackers is a result of him having grown up in a home where he'd been voiceless.

He'd first alluded to his fear that the good in him might be silenced again when he'd revealed his shocking connection with Voldemort that night at the Burrow when he'd clutched at his head, screaming himself out of a nightmare. He'd confided how he was paralyzed with dread that the searing pain in his scar might mean he was sharing Voldemort's thoughts and becoming more like the evil he personifies.

Now today, after having cast a curse meant to kill, whether Harry meant to or not, I wonder if he'll quake in terror at his dark powers as soon as he realizes what he's done. I wonder if Harry might feel anything like what I felt after having the uncontrollable dark thoughts that swept through me earlier in the corridor.

Knowing my disturbing connection to Slytherin brings me new worries about my potential with the dark arts. This is why I refrain from saying anything more to Harry as he stands in front of me. Instead, I look at his watery green eyes, staring at me through his glasses. I see is mouth and try to remember the smile he'd sometimes show us during our younger days when we believed that bad was wrong and right was good. Black and White, nothing in between. Now that we're older, I've come to see the varying shades in between the light and dark. These uncomfortable greys, as mercurial as Malfoy's gaze, are quite unnerving.

Despite Harry's swaggering bluster earlier, I know deep down he hadn't really meant to hurt Malfoy this way. I know this not because he'd said as much during our fight about his careless use of the unknown spell and his unwavering defense of the half-blood prince, but because I know Harry and he simply wouldn't knowingly do something so evil and twisted.

_Right?_

I see the pain in his gaze, so palpable I have to turn away. My thoughts turn inward to discover, with some relief, exactly what I need to take the first tentative step onto the long road leading to my forgiving him for this madness. Out of necessity, I turn to my steadfast belief in Harry's ultimate goodness. Yet, I still cannot bring myself to forgive Harry for his recklessness. It is, however, heartening to know that he likely can't forgive himself either. There is some comfort in _that_.

Harry stops an arm's length away from me. I feel the weight of his stare bore into the crown of my head since I'd long moved my gaze back to the tips of his shoes.

I wearily look up at him when he whispers my name.

He drops something into my lap. I look down and to my amazement my legs and everything beneath them have disappeared from view.

_His Invisibility Cloak._

"You can go see him if you go under that," he says. I finger the material. I can't define the emotion in his voice. I turn to focus on the cloak. With awe, I watch my hand disappear into its folds. I'll never get over the magnitude of this magic. I listen to his erratic breathing, wondering if he'll say anything more.

As if he is forcibly ripping the words out of throat, Harry hoarsely adds, "Tell him that I'm sorry."

I look up again to express just a bit of gratitude. But, he is gone and there is so much left unsaid.

_**

* * *

POV: Malfoy

* * *

**_

I wake to hear a bodiless sniffle.

_Sweet Merlin! Was it that infuriating ghost? _

_Again?! _

I should never have said anything to her about being thankful I wasn't dead. She has visited me five times already and I've only been in and out of consciousness for two hours. I shudder at the thought that she might be watching me in my potion-induced sleep.

_Tawdry specter!_

From beneath my lashes, I surreptitiously dart my eyes around the darkened hospital wing, relieved to find it bereft of the shimmering outline of Moaning Myrtle.

I let out a tiny sigh of relief.

I still feign sleep, however, because the unmistakable sound of crying seems to be coming from right above me. I wonder if she can become invisible. For whatever reason, likely the effects of the magical draughts I had been given for pain, my muddled brain cannot recall if ghosts can completely conceal themselves from human sight.

The fringe at my brow is gently swept aside by fingers I cannot see. Not cold, but not exactly warm. The feather-light touch softly moves to search my face, attempting to discover wounds as I appear to rest. I hear a soft gasp and feel the stutter of a fingertip on my right cheek, a part of my face that hurts to high heaven now that I've bothered to run the tip of my tongue on the inside of it. I wonder if whatever Potter did to me will leave scars.

The weight of someone coming to sit beside me on my bed intrigues more than alarms. There is a slight press at my right thigh.

The touch of a finger on the button resting in the V of my collarbone has my eyes flying open. I now feel the warmth of invisible fingers slowly undoing the silky pajama top Pansy retrieved from my dorm room for me to wear while I am made to recuperate in the hospital wing. I watch, mesmerized as my buttons appear to slowly, magically, unbutton themselves. I know, though, that it's _someone_ and not some magic that is doing it. I have also managed to know somehow, despite my shock of being undressed this way, that it's a _feminine_ someone.

The soft crying turns into a quieter snuffle. I wonder at the sound of it while remaining stock still as my bandaged chest comes into view. It occurs to me that I should not be aroused by what is happening to me, but I find that I am... quite fascinatingly aroused. This ends, however, when I hear her sharp gasp as the extent of my wounds is revealed. For the first time I, too, look down to see the expanse of white cotton gauze against what had been my once unmarred chest.

The sight makes me gasp, too.

I feel her bestow a careful touch along the magical tape that holds the bandages to my damaged skin. Her weeping then begins anew. I hiss at a sudden stinging at the center of my chest. My fingers grip the hospital sheets at either side of my hips.

_Bugger! But, it hurt to bloody hell! I swear I am going to hex that wanker, Potter, to oblivion just as soon as I'm back on my feet!_

I tense, not knowing what will happen now that I have shown myself to be awake and aware. The movements beside me and the gentle strokes against my body stop just as mysteriously as they'd begun. I can only hear her laboured breathing and her stifled sobs.

In vain, I stare into the darkness.

_Am I dreaming? _

_Or do I smell the scent of apricots_?

"Granger?" I whisper hopefully.

In blind faith, I reach out in front of me to grab hold of material I cannot see.

_**

* * *

POV: Hermione

* * *

**_

"You're leaking."

His sardonic tone brings a wan smile to my face. If he can affect _that_ voice, then I know he will live to see another day.

"You're bleeding because of me," I whisper apologetically, trying unsuccessfully to stem the tears.

"No, I was bleeding because of Potter," he replies bitterly. "Most of the cuts are closed now. There are just a few rips left that need the bandaging."

I stare at the bandages then back at him.

_A few? Merlin! How bad had it been?_

He returns my stare curiously.

I hadn't realized he'd been awake while I'd taken the liberty of finding out for myself how badly Harry had damaged him. It wasn't until Draco had whispered my name and I'd caught the glitter of hope beyond the befuddlement that I found myself thrilled at the sight of him. Something quite wonderful burst inside of me to see this vulnerability... his desire and hope that it was _me_ who sat invisible beside him.

His fingers had gently pulled at the Invisibility Cloak, making it slide down past my shoulders to expose me to him. It now lays bunched around my waist, atop his thighs. I'd been leaning over to inspect his bandages. My face and my hand still hover just above his chest. I know my hair is a frizzy mess, my face puffy and my eyes bloodshot. But I don't care. I just want to look at him and make sure he isn't on his deathbed. I'd been so single-minded in my task that it only just occurred to me that I'd undressed him without so much as a by-your-leave.

"You have to stop," he orders.

"Stop what?" I ask, not entirely sure if he's angry at my bold removal of his nightshirt.

"Leaking. Crying. Whatever," he says, clenching his teeth again as though in pain at the admission.

"Why? I can cry if I like, Malfoy," I say, surprised at how annoyed I am by his demand.

"It hurts me when you cry," he admits reluctantly. His eyes, full of dark grey storm clouds meet my weepy brown. I watch the grimace form on his face. With one hand he weakly tries to wipe at my face. At the feel of his fingertips touching my cheek, I feel a fresh stream of tears fall.

"It hurts _here_ when you do that. Please, Granger," he gasps. "Just stop."

I look down. The strong fingers of his other hand touch the bandage that cover his heart. I melt a little at the gesture, but upon closer inspection, I realize the bandages beneath his fingertips are wet with my tears which must have seeped through to salt his wounds. I want to laugh at my melodrama and find myself utterly embarrassed at such romantic fancies.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" I exclaim softly, moving swiftly to get up. But before I can stand, his hand shoots out to grab mine and our fingers automatically intertwine.

I watch little sparks fly around our joined hands. He turns to look at them, too.

"Some magic," he whispers wondrously.

That same magic as before. I smile at the pretty sight of it. I want so desperately to believe he's pleased by it too.

"Don't go," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. His hand tugs me back to his bedside. "Please. I had not even realize I wanted to see you until..."

I slowly sit down again, sending him a coy smile.

"Until?" I prod curiously.

"...until I saw you," he says with a small smile, running his thumb against the back of my hand watching in amazement as the little sparks fly again.

"You're alright, then?" I ask, hiding my gaze beneath my lashes, color rushing to my cheeks. This is the first time I'd _ever_ been alone with a half-dressed boy, never mind feeling the absolute rightness of clutching _this_ boy's hand and hearing him tell me he wants me... _to stay_.

His mirthless chuckle calls my focus back to him.

"I am alive if that is what you mean," he supplies. "And, I have decided that I most definitely dislike the sensation of pain."

I smile at his spoiled tone.

"This being the case," he continues, "I realize that I must do all I can to postpone my inevitable death. You can thank Potter for that dose of reality, I suppose."

"Well, thank goodness for little blessings," I joke quietly. "I suppose you'll be staying alive to seek your revenge then," I toss lightly, but not without some venom.

His fingers tighten around mine.

"What is this? Such a conniving thought from a die-hard Gryffindor?! Do not tell me you are turning Slytherin on me, Granger."

In his weariness, it's difficult for him to hide his surprise at the ill-disguised acid in my reply. I jump a little. His words hit too close to the truth I want to keep from him.

"Never, Draco," I smile softly, quickly hiding my dismay. "It's just that I know the Slytherin in _you_."

"And you are still here?" he inquires teasingly, though it seems he's trying to convey something of what he secretly believes of himself. "My, you are quite mad to want to be around the likes of me, Hermione. Why won't you listen to Potter? I am too dangerous for you to be around."

"Perhaps," I rely cryptically. "But, I don't plan on abandoning you, Ferret. You won't be rid of me so easily."

"Interfering Gryffindor," he sighs, feigning irritably. "I hope you are not putting your misplaced faith in a dastardly Slytherin like me, Granger."

"Perhaps you need to have a little faith in the both of us working together, Malfoy."

The teasing smile that had been playing on his lips at our banter, slides away.

"Are we back to this again, Granger?" His eyes flash silver in the moonlight at his hushed accusation.

"You want me to stay with you, and I mean to, Draco." I say with some reprimand. "And seeing as you're now a captive audience, why not speak of this? It's as good a topic as any." I raise an eyebrow when he forcefully drops my hand. I continue undaunted by his cold retreat from me. "Ron tells me that you don't mean to actually take me to Voldemort."

"I'm tired," he says, clearly faking a yawn.

"You're a liar."

"I never claimed not to be," he retorts petulantly. "But, I am being quite honest about this, Granger. I still have no intention to lay you at the feet of a cold-blooded killer. Let Potter face him, for Merlin's sake! It is the way of things. It's what is expected!"

"So, now you claim you are content with _the way of things_? You mean to tell me that you are unbothered with the idea of standing by and accepting what is _expected_, Malfoy?" I hiss hotly. "Tell me, how has _that_ worked out for you in the case of your family's expectations of you?"

He huffs, turning his gaze away. He knows if he hadn't fought convention, he'd still be a bigoted tosser, alone, scared witless and looking at the receiving end of Voldemort's wand.

"What can I do to convince you that we _can_ do this?" I ask, trying to hide the desperation in my voice.

"Why do you even _want_ to do this, Granger?" He rounds back, glaring at me.

"I don't want you to kill Dumbledore," I answer quickly. "I don't want Harry to face death when I can help make it easier for him to conquer Voldemort." I take a deep breath and stare into his now wide, confused stare. "I don't want you to become something that you are not because of some misbegotten sense of duty. I don't want you, or Harry, to feel like you are my protectors. I don't want you to risk your life as a double agent. This... this..."

I gesture toward his maimed chest.

"Draco, you have no idea what it did to me when I saw you after Harry's attack. Ron wouldn't let me go to you in order to keep everything secret. I watched Snape carry you away and I couldn't calm my fear and grief at seeing you so hurt! If Harry hadn't allowed me to use this cloak, I'd still be crying and helpless upstairs. _I CAN'T be that weepy witless girl, Malfoy! _Don't make me into that girl! I have an opportunity to do something and I mean to take it."

He averts his gaze from mine, but not before I catch a glimmer of emotion that I hope beyond hope isn't something I'd just imagined.

"Hermione, you are asking me to place you in extreme peril," he states tonelessly. "You want me to accept your insane plan that has you taking up the role of protector for the lot of us."

"Yes," I reply confidently, for the first time feeling the blood of my forefathers pump through my veins. My impassioned reply has me unthinkingly placing my hands on his shoulders. I gasp at the scorching electricity that shoots pleasurably through me at the touch of my bare skin on his body. I hear his soft sound of surprise, too. He recovers a split second before I do.

"And what if I don't want _you_ to become something that you are not because of some misbegotten sense of duty, Hermione?" he replies with a shudder. I like to think this involuntary reaction is because of my unexpected touch. I dislike thinking he might be unaffected by my closeness.

"Draco, let me help you, please," I beseech. "I'm stronger than you think."

Now that my hands are on him, curiosity and the aching need to assure myself of his wellness assail my senses. I give in to my desire to touch him. A little braver than my shaking hands show, I run the fingers of my right hand across his collarbone. His eyes widen at the feel of my wandering touch. A foreign thrill rushes through me as I feel his heartbeat quicken at the pulse point at his neck which now lies beneath my left hand. With a turn of my wrists, I brazenly run my hands down his sides. I hear the swift intake of his breath. I realize I am holding my own life-giving breath as I trace the contours of his muscles, contracting, tensing under my journeying hand. I don't really know what I'm doing, only that I want to do it.

And because I'd almost lost him, I let myself indulge in this secret desire.

"Please, Draco," I whisper longingly. "Let me help make it better." I don't know if I'm talking about my plan, or asking permission to continue my exploration of him in an effort to make him forget his pain.

I bend closer to him, trailing my fingers back up the length of the unhurt part of his torso. My fingertips again find the frantic pulse at his neck. I hear his audible gulp. I find the courage to touch my forehead to his. Our noses nearly touch, too. His eyes shut and I watch the range of emotions parade across his face without the benefit of gazing into the depths of his eyes. The spicy masculine scent of him mixes with the sharp smells of the tinctures in his salve.

"Hermione," he rasps, "You need to stay away from me. For Merlin's sake, you are the smart one! You should hate me after all that I have done to you. I am not much different from the bully you know me as. It is best you understand that now. Before... before..."

"That might be true, Draco," I say cutting off his denial of what could be between us. I purposely hold myself close to him, not wishing to draw away. "Perhaps it's just my understanding of you that's changed, Draco. You may see yourself as the way you always were, but I've become acquainted with a side of you I hadn't been given the opportunity to see before. In my eyes, you've gone from cruel, contemptuous and offensive to chivalrous, reserved, even respectable."

"You are fooling yourself, Granger," he says gruffly, continuing to shut his eyes against my searching gaze. "I am none of those things. You would do well to stop searching for your fairy tale hero in the likes of me."

"You're a reluctant hero, then," I suggest confidently, offering up my compliment with an encouraging smile he refuses to open his eyes to see. "Let me treasure the good in you, Draco." I run my hand through his hair. My other rests beneath his strong jaw, my thumb caressing the nook where neck meets shoulder.

"Hermione, you're not playing fair," he groans, his hand coming to clutch at the robe at my waist. He opens his eyes, his gaze pleading.

For the first time, I understand the power that Lavender, Ginny and Pavarti whisper about, words I'd been too inexperienced to fully comprehend.

_No longer. Not with him looking at me this way._

"You should not bother with me, Bookworm. I am a lost cause. I will fail in what Dumbledore asks. I refuse to do what Riddle wants. So, I will fail my family, too," he realizes forlornly.

"Granger," he sighs, "I am bound to fail you... You need to stop now," he says more firmly, attempting to push me away, but without much physical strength to support his verbal protest. "You cannot ask this of me, not in this way. You are not playing fair, Hermione."

I smile because I'm not intending to be the least bit fair, especially with this new found power over him.

_I understand now what the other girls with boyfriends talk about when they slide pitying glances at me. This purely feminine charm is more potent than any magic I can conjure with my wand. This is Malfoy and... me. The way he looks at me, why, it takes my very breath away._

"Draco, nothing's fair in lo–"

"Don't say it," his whisper is pained, his shallow breath quickens, and I feel his brow knit beneath mine as he brings his fingers up to hush the movement of my lips. I smile at his knowledge of the Muggle quote. "Do not bandy that word about as if it means nothing," he softly scolds.

I pause, wondering what he knows of _this_ word. Is it possible he might have experienced first-hand the emotions that swirl around it with another? Like Pansy? I find the idea doesn't sit well. Perhaps he fears the responsibility of it so much that he can't bear to hear it when it is spoken about him? I puzzle at this, but I dislike seeing his obvious discomfort so I edit the well-worn phrase.

"In _war_, then, Ferret," I amend quietly, my breath puffs against his fingers still splayed on my lips. He removes he hand. "Nothing's fair in _war, Draco_. Say you'll agree to my plan."

"Merlin, Hermione," the neediness in his voice calls out to mine. "Don't do this."

I want to kiss him.

_Terribly_.

_Desperately_.

But, I know we aren't ready for such intimacy, so I trail my lips across his jawline to replace the fingers I used to touch the pulsepoint at his neck close to his ear. My hand drags through his hair again as I press my lips to his neck.

_Safer here. No meeting of mouths. No real chance of falling headlong into something he wants no part of._

"Say you'll let me help you... Just let me help you... get out of this bad situation, Draco," I insist, punctuating my words with swift kisses to this sensitive underside of his jaw. I hear a low growl in his throat as I nip at his skin there. His fingers dig into my waist.

_Who am I kidding? _Deep down, I already know I've fallen half in-love with the spoiled prat. I respond to the feel of his hands on me with a needy sound of my own.

"Say you will, Draco. Please."

I feel his heartbeat pound as I wait greedily for his answer.

"Only if you'll stay, Hermione," he at last whispers into my hair. "Only if you'll stay with me."

This admission of wanting me near, these words seem to cost him dearly. I touch my fingertips to his lashes. I want him to open his eyes. I tell him so. I turn and I find myself caught in the snare of his heated stare.

"I won't ever leave you," I whisper this promise, wishing to wipe away his silent doubts.

He shuts his lids again.

_Stubborn boy._

"Tell Weasley to visit me tomorrow night and we will figure it out," he says, the muscles in his jaw working. His face is buried in my hair and his hold at my waist has not loosened.

"But, what about me?" I ask, pouting that I'm to be left out of the discussion.

"What about _you_?" he asks. His eyes are open now and his hands move to grip the sides of my face, pushing back to keep me at arm's length. His words remind me of my own during the heated argument with Harry earlier.

_Indeed._ _What about me?_ It occurs to me that this moment is no longer about me.

I silence my thoughts and strive to truly listen to him.

"You, witch, will put my buttons back in order," he says, voice shaking slightly, though his command is given with a touch of that haughty Malfoy air. "You will stop driving me insane with your wily ways. You will pull that cloak over yourself and you will lay down beside me. Then, you had better get some blasted sleep, and let me get some much needed rest as well!"

I smile as he desperately tries to put some emotional space between us again by letting go of the physical closeness we'd just achieved. I allow him this retreat by following every one of his demands, gratified he'd asked me to stay beside him tonight. I take my sweet time with the buttons, brushing off his complaints of my leisurely pace by insisting I am taking care not to hurt him further. I send him a saucy smile which he returns with a huff and an eye roll.

At long last, I tuck him in and he smirks his thanks.

"I knew you would come around to discovering your undeniable attraction to me, Granger," he growls, his teasing an effort to cover up the more tender feelings I'd watched build in him as I put him back to rights. "Who knew you would take advantage of an invalid, Bookworm. So sordid of you."

I scoff at his jokes. "Malfoy. There's a thin line between lo–" He shoots me a warning look interrupting me mid-sentence. I smile knowingly and choose a word I believe he'll have little trouble with. "... A thin line between _lust_ and hate, Malfoy. I believe I prefer entertaining the former rather than the latter. After all, in your current immobile state I am able to maintain the upper hand."

I send him a bold smirk of my own. He chuckles loudly and I relish the precious rare sound coming from him. I notice, however, his pained wince at the effort of producing such merriment. I quit my teasing and feel him relax beneath his sheets.

As per his request, I pull the cloak over me and I rest my head beside his. Through the cloak I kiss the tip of his nose and I catch the wisp of his contented sigh and the spicy scent of him. His arm closest to me wraps around my waist and, fascinated, I watch his eyelids flutter closed.

Heeding Ron's warning about discretion, I know I must not fall into sleep. My only wish is to help him ease into his. As soon as I feel his arm grow heavy around me and hear his deep even breathing against my ear, I carefully move out of his embrace and make my way back to the Gryffindor common room.

_**

* * *

POV: Malfoy  
**The Following Eve...**

* * *

**_

He has been here all of fifteen minutes. Under the cover of dark, a clever Disillusionment Charm, and a hastily thrown Muffliato, the Weasel is fuming, looking ready to finish the job Potter began yesterday.

"How could you promise you'd allow her to do this, Malfoy?" his shout rings in my ears. "I'd hoped you'd do better than that! Do you wish her dead?"

"She is convincing, Weasel," I retort hotly. "But, she won't die! Not if we do this right. Before she can even think to step one foot toward the Manor, you and I, we can convince her that she's nutters to think she will survive the confrontation with Riddle."

He shakes his head.

"You don't know Hermione, Malfoy. She's a stubborn one."

"You mean to tell me that your belligerence plus mine amounts to anything less?"

His eyebrow rises. "Clearly, if they did, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation," he scoffs. "It'll take more than our combined bullying to make Hermione even begin reconsidering whatever it is she's already convinced herself of about her role in this."

"It _will_ work, Weasel," I insist annoyed at his pessimism. "We just haven't truly combined forces yet. Look, I won't be going to the Manor this holiday seeing as I am recuperating."

I cast a look down my body, realizing suddenly that I should be thanking Potter for the reprieve he has bestowed upon me by postponing my receipt of the Dark Mark. Suddenly I feel the urge to smile widely and am amused to see Weasley's eyes round at my expression.

"She will not be going to your Burrow," I continue, "this means she and I will be here _together_. Once I am out of this bed, I can start her _training_ and through that I will be able to convince her that she is rubbish at withstanding the rigors of what she is asking me to put her through."

I watch him stiffen and eye me suspiciously.

"You think we can trick the brightest witch at Hogwarts, perhaps the smartest witch in wizarding England?" he asks, astonished by my nerve.

I nod, a sly smile on my face. With my eyes I dare him to suggest we cannot succeed.

He shifts and nods a bit as though trying to convince himself this is a logical plan that I have come up with.

"What do you plan to do during this _training _with Hermione_, _Malfoy?" His voice is tinged with resentful curiosity.

"Nothing that will actually _hurt_ her, Weasel," I reply. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt her. I will simply start her with Legilimency and Occlumency."

"How can I trust you, Ferret? You haven't exactly shown restraint in hurting her before."

I glare at him, but soon realize he's right. In all my public confrontations with her I'd been nothing but cruel.

"I swear on all that I own and all that I am that Hermione will come to no harm during this training," I say earnestly, attempting to wordlessly convey the depth of my regard for his best friend.

After a moment's consideration, he nods his agreement.

"And, what about _your_ training," Weasel asks me pointedly.

"I require no training," I respond, confused.

"If we convince her she can't do this, you get to be a double agent," he replies slowly, as if trying to explain something to a small child.

_Ah, yes, I'd nearly managed to forget about that_.

"You'll have to know all manners of powerful _good_ magic," he continues to explain, "just like Harry and the rest of us tried to prepare ourselves with last term."

I look at him with some derision.

"Look, Malfoy, I didn't decide to involve myself in the drama of your life to watch you pitch yourself to your death. You're the consummate coward, Ferret. You and I know it. But with the proper weapons in your apparently vast arsenal, you have to have a few tricks up your sleeve."

I thin my lips. I know where this is going.

"I will not need your magic," I say confidently.

"What do you mean? Are you going to back out of your agreement with Snape and Dumbledore?" His voice is reaching a roar again. "Are you too afraid to do what it takes to do this properly?"

"Don't think I won't take the damn mark," I find myself reaching for his decibel levels. It feels good to hide my fear with offended anger. "I'll bear it without so much as a whimper so long as I can keep Hermione out of this. I've already promised you, she won't come to harm, and I will play the convincing loyal Death Eater, just as I agreed."

"Blimey, Malfoy," he breathes, quite astonished by my fervent display. "You're quite serious about this."

"Of course!" I nearly shout with exasperation. "Why else do you think you are here?!"

"But... Malfoy, what if you fail at the playacting?" Weasley asks the question I refuse to ponder. Though he might never own up to it, his concern for me is evident. "Won't you suffer the same fate as your father?"

I rub at my temples, running my fingers through my hair to calm the terror that grips me when he asks the question.

"Look, I have been taught to cast off all of the Unforgivables save one," I explain, surprised my voice isn't quivering. In fact, I'm surprised to find some strength in my tone. "They can send dementors at me, or torture me with spells that feel the same as a dementor's kiss, Weasley, but they won't be effective."

"How is that? The rumors aren't true, then? You _do_ know how to cast a Patronus?" he asks, impressed.

I shake my head. "No, Weasel. I have no need. There is no happiness in my life that such a creature can suck out of me. My family has made sure of that. I may eventually go mad, but I will not feel the soul sucking power of such things."

The redhead beside me smiles wryly before he shakes his head at my pitiful, though heartfelt, response.

"That's _not_ true, Malfoy."

I look at him with growing animosity.

_What did he know of my life? Or my capacity for happiness?_

"You've spent time with Hermione, haven't you, Ferret?"

"You know I have," I shrug noncommittally, my anger dissipating with the thought of her.

"Then you've enough happiness that the dementors _can_ hurt you," he says matter-of-factly. "You'll learn to cast a Patronus just as you'll teach me, and eventually her, how to cast off as many of the Unforgivables as you know how."

I gaze at him thoughtfully as I secretly gather together all of my happy memories, what little of them there are that are not tainted with some sort of darkness. I am surprised to discover Weasley is right. But, there is one happy memory of which Granger is not a part. I keep that one locked up in my heart hoping it will be the key to discovering my Patronus.

He turns to go, but before he puts his wand to his head, he asks, "Out of curiosity, Malfoy, what did she say to make you agree to her terms?"

I fight back a blush as the thoughts of last night wash over me. I clamour for a calm, even, reasonable tone. "I agreed to her demands in a moment of... weakness," I offer lamely.

He catches on quickly, another rise of an eyebrow and a quirk at his lips, "So, you agreed while your wits had flown... south for a holiday?"

"Something like that," I smirk, then find myself frowning at his knowing chuckle.

_Has this happened to him, too? With her?!_

"And _you?"_ I ask accusingly. "Why did you so readily agree to come meet me tonight?"

"Oh, rest assured, it was _nothing_ like what you experienced with Hermione, Malfoy. I agreed because I'd rather avoid one of her more uncomfortable hexes. But, believe me, I've known of those moments of... ah... weakness. With others, mind, so... I can sympathize."

With a bemused shake of his head he taps his own forehead, disappearing in a shimmer right before my eyes. A swing of the door and I know he is gone.

I hear the door click shut and think of the task ahead — convincing Granger of her incompetence in her abilities at dark magic.

I fall back into my pillows groaning at the impossibility of such a chore.

_Blast that stubborn, too-smart-for-her-own-good, bloody attractive witch!_


	22. Gifts Freely Given

**Gifts Freely Given  
_POV: Hermione_**

* * *

The Great Hall is nearly empty save for a few straggling First Years who cast looks of awe at the striking blond Slytherin striding into the vast room. Above him, the enchanted ceiling is a breathtaking sight. Snowflakes fall like white cherry blossom petals caught in a waltz orchestrated by a soft icy breeze. Winter break at Hogwarts, though quiet, is certainly a beautiful affaire.

The twinkling fairy lights dotting the gargantuan Christmas trees on the professors' dais catch my eye as I find myself wondering just how I'd managed to be only one of a handful of remaining Sixth Years left on Hogwarts grounds during the Yuletide. Seems with the threat of war, everyone feels the need to return home... well, _nearly_ everyone.

I opt to stay at school for obvious reasons. I can already imagine my parents reuniting with their long lost Emmanuelle. I blink away on-coming emotion. Instead, I focus my thoughts on the quite delicious meal before me.

With no one nagging me to eat, I've at last been reunited with my long-lost appetite. Even my desire to sleep has returned. A late afternoon catnap is what had me missing the dinner bell and finding myself quite alone during my meal. I'm currently working on a treacle tart, savoring the sweetness of the dessert's golden syrup. I nibble at the last round of buttered crust as my eyes follow Malfoy's slim form strutting toward my table. It's the first time I've seen him up and about since I'd left him in the classroom to look for Ron. He saunters toward me with a slightly dragging swagger. His barely noticeable alteration of movement is somewhat alarming, leaving me to wonder if he's still in pain from the wounds Harry inflicted on him days before.

_You wouldn't think he came away with a scratch from that duel with Harry if you were to look at him now,_ I think admiringly. Along with his impeccable robes, much richer than Hogwarts' required garb, Malfoy also wears a rare smile. In his hands he totes two rather large books. His smile widens when he catches sight of me. My heart flutters in the cage of my chest and I look back to my plate before he notices the blush rushing to my face.

I dare a darting glance his way when I sense he's stopped in front of my table. I discover him raptly examining the feast still in front of me. With what can only be described as masculine grace, Draco slides to sitting position across from me. He now occupies the spot usually reserved for Harry.

I frown at this.

"Hungry, Granger?" the amused grays of his eyes take in the spattering of crumbs on my plate. It seems like forever that I'd actually sat down and had a full meal, so I'm not about to feel like a glutton over it.

_I'm stuffed and why not? It's nearly Christmas!_

"No longer, Malfoy," I reply, patting my still flat stomach. "I think I've taken care of the hunger."

I watch him suspiciously as his mouth twists into a wry sort of smile. I itch to ask him why he insists on laughing at me.

"Really? Hmmmm, I wonder at that," he murmurs, taking up the plate in front of him to fill with food, too.

"Are _you_ hungry, Malfoy?" I ask, perturbed by the secret twinkle in his eye as he piles mounds of potatoes onto his plate. I take notice of how his portions could rival Ron's.

"Very much so, Granger," comes his dry reply, as he pours a liberal dose of gravy over the fluffy mountain of white.

"Seems as though you're taking care of it," I say, staring pointedly at the overabundance that strains the wrist of his hand trying to hold the plate level. As irritating as this repartee is, it is good to see that Malfoy's appetite, as well as his wits, are restored.

"Hardly, Granger," he says in a tone I am unaccustomed to and cannot name. "I doubt _this_ will work to fully satisfy _my_ hunger."

My eyes whip up to meet his teasing ones. My eyes move to his fingers, mischievously plucking the top buttons of his dress-whites. The innuendo is now crystal clear. I stem the desire to roll my eyes in exasperation.

"Stop it, Ferret," I warn, voice lowered. He chuckles, then delivers me a sly, knowing smile. The sight of it sends a frisson of energy up my spine. I return it with an embarrassed flitting smile of my own. Now, in the light of day, what I'd done in the darkness of the hospital wing seems quite scandalous. I can't seem to hold his gaze. Desperately, I wrack my brain, searching for a way to steer the conversation to safer waters. A downturn of my gaze has me finding just the thing. With my chin, I indicate my interest in the books he's placed beside his cup.

"What have you got there?" I inquire lightly.

He deftly lifts the top book off the other, laying them side by side, moving them so the words are no longer upside down for me to read. He's eating with the manners of an earl, I notice, his refined breeding apparent in the simple act of carefully dabbing the corner of his mouth with his half folded napkin which he returns to his lap in what is obviously a well-trained habit. I try not to stare at his fastidious manners and turn again to the tomes in front of me.

**Defensive Magical Theory** and **Confronting the Faceless**.

_Our Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks?_

"You do realize the first is utter rubbish," I say with a sniff, pushing it away, back toward him. He flicks a glance at the book as it comes precariously close to his cup of cider.

"Only if you do not know what you are looking for," he replies tonelessly, lifting a forkful of beef to his mouth. "Umbridge knew what she was about when she required _this_ book. I do agree, however, that there are far more practical defense techniques in Snape's required text."

I examine his face as he says this. He simply stares back at me, now unhurriedly chewing his food.

_What is he on about and why has he brought these books here?_

I frown.

"Do you mean to tell me, Malfoy," I say, smoothing my hand over the cover of the second book, "that the answer to how I will be able to survive my meeting with Riddle is found in our _textbooks_?"

"Why, yes, Granger, that is _exactly _what I mean."

"You are actually going to keep your promise of teaching me?" I ask incredulously. "You were truly serious?"

From across the table, I watch his movements still. I am surprised to find half of the food on his plate already gone. How he'd eaten it all without appearing like Ron and Harry at the trough, I cannot begin to say. With agonizing preciseness, he places his fork carefully against his half-filled plate. An icy silence grips us as I notice his hands tense along the edge of the table. The small hairs at my neck lift at the charge of energy his sudden change in demeanor throws into the air. Despite this, I bravely lift my face up to view his. His steely stare makes me want to cringe. I refuse to cower.

"I gave you my word, did I not? " his voice is tight and disdainful. "I do realize that such a thing may mean precious little to you, Granger, but it would appear that my word is all I truly have left." His suddenly cool, perhaps even pained, countenance bewilders me. I take mental note of what I'd said that had riled him so much that he's managed to conjure up a shadow of his father's freezing tone.

"Rest assured, witch, I _am_ coming to understand the meaning of words like honor, duty, and, yes, even trust," he continues stormily. "I _am_ striving to unlearn the skewed vision of these things taught to me at my father's knee. I do not precisely know _why_, but it is of some importance that _you_ believe me, though I would rather it not matter so much."

"I… I," my stuttering aggravates me and somehow it is this faltering that somehow brings back the lazy smile to his face. "Malfoy, I didn't mean to insult you," I finally splutter. "I'm just surprised that you'd actually approach me with this, seeing as you were so adamantly opposed to helping me before."

"Weasley and I came to an agreement before he left on holiday," he states between bites, calm again. "We both decided it was probably best if we," he sends me an odd look before saying words I never thought to hear from his lips, "do as you request, Bookworm."

"Really?! The _both_ of you?" I gasp, shocked and relieved that they'd come to this decision without an epic argument from me first.

"Yes," he says, in a bothered tone, before tucking into the last of his potatoes. I watch him swallow. His adam's apple bobs up and down.

_I know that throat. _The thought drifts into my mind as I sit mesmerized by the motion there. _I've touched that throat. I've even kissed that throat._

He glances up to catch me staring. As shrewd as he is, he also seems to catch the direction of my thoughts. With an enigmatic smile he repeats his reply, "Yes, Granger, _really_."

I clear my own throat and purposefully move into academic mode, a much more comfortable place to be than wrestling with this foreign yearning for a boy who not so long ago had been my number one enemy.

"So what's to be first, Draco?" I ask eagerly. Now that I'd pushed aside my desire for him, I try not to bounce on the bench in my excitement to learn something knew.

"Hmmmm. What shall it be..." he appears thoughtful as he bites into his dessert. The crumbs latch on to the tart's golden syrup threatening to trickle down the side of his mouth.

I want to wipe it away.

His eyes close in what seems to be rapturous ecstasy over that one sweet bite. Interesting that he shares the love of this humble dessert with Harry. Thankfully, this idle thought helps me to keep my hands to myself.

Malfoy carefully dabs his lips with the napkin again. I am irritated that I continue to notice such things about him. His calculating grey orbs meet mine. He smiles wickedly. His hand opens the textbook nearest to him and I watch his adept fingers flip to the index of _Defensive Magical Theory. _He hasn't even looked at the page he's opened.

He reaches for my hand. Confused, I offer it to him with some trepidation.

"Make a pointer finger," he orders quietly, holding my wrist lightly. At this slight touch, I notice how he seems to feel the same wave of magic hit us simultaneously. He recovers first. "Now," he demands softly, "Hermione, give me your hand and point."

I stare at him suspiciously, then I watch him guide my hand so that I feel my fingertip slide along the open page. I hear him whisper a counting chant from my childhood. How he knows of it I have no inkling.

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe..."

Alarmed, I tug my hand away but he won't let go. This isn't the proper way of getting down to the business of defeating Voldemort! I want this thing with Riddle over and done with straightaway. Malfoy's behaviour seems wholly contradictory to the urgent need to start with a more thoughtful strategy.

"This is ludicrous, Ferret," I say sharply, thoroughly unamused. All the while, I try to ignore the pleasurable sensation of his hand now holding my fingers captive. "Give me back my hand and stop messing about."

"So instead of fate, you would rather leave the deciding to me, then?" he teases as his thumb dares to slide against my sensitive palm. "And, you will agree to whatever I say without complaint?"

I barely register his words, my every nerve alive at his rather innocent caress.

"Yes, Malfoy," I nearly sigh, aghast at the words that mindlessly trip out of my mouth. "Let's start with whatever you think is best."

He squeezes my fingers once and then lets go. I feel the absence of his touch all too keenly. I dislike the physical need he inspires in me and I try to ruthlessly beat back the sensations with an imaginary bludger. Malfoy returns his attentions to his food. I war with myself, trying to wait patiently for him to finish eating so we can talk.

It's a losing battle.

"So? What's it to be then? The first thing I am to learn?" I'm fairly bursting with curiosity. Again, he slowly places his fork neatly at a diagonal on his now clear plate. I clench my teeth waiting for him to speak. All too quickly, a triumphant gleam reaches his eyes and I know I've made a grievous error.

_Clever. Too clever. Wretched Slytherin. Now we both know he's gained the upper hand… indefinitely._

"Shall we have a wager, Hermione?"

_No!_

"What are you proposing?" I find myself responding, despite myself.

"If after the… ah… lessons, the three of us decide that you are rubbish at these defenses, then we will not go through with your visit to Lord Voldemort's," he says with an insouciant smirk.

_No!_

The expression on his face, however, has me nodding my agreement even as my internal voice screeches at me not to agree to his suggestion. The possibility of being bested by him is intolerable. The mere idea of bringing his arrogant self down a rung or two by showing him just exactly what I'm made of is suddenly quite tempting indeed.

His smile widens at my hasty acceptance of his terms. I watch him move to pull out his wand.

"So, shall we seal it with a vow—"

I shoot him a dirty look.

"No oaths. No vows. Let's simply agree on your newly discovered honor that you and Ron will be fair about this," I say, thrusting my hand out to shake. He regards my resolute expression, then he settles his gaze on my outstretched hand. He stares at it for so long that I itch to pull it away.

"We're supposed to shake on it, Malfoy," I explain through clenched teeth, thoroughly embarrassed that he's left my hand still hanging in mid-air.

"Oh, I know," he says with a broad smile, making no move to take my offering. "I am just wondering if you have eschewed the touching of our wands for yet another opportunity to touch _me_."

"In your dreams, Malfoy," I snap, snatching my hand back and fisting it in my lap. I hiss at myself as I feel the color rising again, ashamed that I actually had a fleeting thought of how delicious it would be to feel the little thrill of his touch once more.

"I do not think I am the only one doing that sort of dreaming, Granger," he says with a husky laugh. Mortified, I watch him gather his books and rise to leave. I move only my eyes, watching him turn the corner of the table, to come near. He leans down, his mouth nearly against my ear. I tense. His slightly mocking voice whispers, "Just let me know when you want me to... _make all your dreams come true_."

I squirm, knowing without a doubt that his hawk-like gaze hadn't missed the instant rise of pink to my cheeks and my newly laboured breath. Still flustered, it is the view of his retreating back that finally reminds me he's failed to answer my initial question.

With a quick glance around, I see that the Great Hall is now empty of all but us. I rise before he reaches the entryway, and in a clear voice I call loudly, "Malfoy, what is it that we'll be working on first?"

Without looking back he tosses his answer back at me.

"Occlumency. Await my owl."

* * *

Last night, his black-billed owl tapped incessantly at my dormitory window. After I'd given the gorgeous creature a treat, it regally regarded me with its golden eyes, then flew off, leaving me with a piece of parchment. Draco's precise penmanship indicated the time and place for my first private D.A.D.A. lesson with him.

I am now at the place he specified, at about the same time as we used to meet when he and I shared the cabinet assignment. This evening, the Room of Requirement is not filled with dusty magical relics. It has taken on the look of a very cozy parlour. I wonder if it mimics the one Malfoy grew up in at his family manor. The color scheme surely hints at it.

The fire crackles at the grate, warm and inviting. Seems I've caught the blonde somewhat unawares. Draco leans back against the forest-green, velvet-covered chaise. He's staring into the fire, lost in his thoughts. His dark trousers still hold their crisp folds. His white button-down is open at the neck. The sight of his skin there taunts me with the memories of touching him. I see a hint of his healing scars just beneath the collar. His shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows show me that he still bears no Dark Mark. In fact, Malfoy looks every bit the lazing aristocrat – hardly menacing.

Even so, I enter warily, unsure of what exactly I've just gotten myself into.

"Happy Christmas, Draco," I say softly, not wanting to surprise him while he's lost in the sight of the dancing flames.

"And to you, too, Hermione," he replies turning to look at me with a half smile. The molten metal of his eyes train on my every movement as I put myself in front of the fire glow. "So, you came."

"Yes."

His mouth moves into a full smile as he watches me fidgeting in front of him. His hand moves to a small beribboned box on the floor beside him. He picks it up and offers it to me. My eyes widen, my mouth opens slightly in shock while looking at what can only be a small jeweler's gift box.

I find myself rooted to the spot. I'd brought nothing for him. I am appalled at myself for not even thinking to bring him a gift.

"Take it," he entreats, still holding it out to me as I mentally kick myself.

Forcing myself to take a step toward him, I reluctantly reach out toward the hinged box. He lets go and it falls heavily into my open palm.

"What is it?" I ask lamely.

He rolls his eyes at me, moving his fingers to pinch the end of the bow, pulling it a little to loosen the ribbon.

"Open it."

"I didn't bring anything for you," I admit shamefully, shaking my head.

"I did not expect you to," he replies. His tone is noticeably neutral. "Just open it, Hermione."

With shaking hands I pull off the remainder of the green and red satin bow. The irony of the intertwined colors is not lost on me as I flip open the top. My eyes fall on the contents of the box. I let out a small gasp as I behold an exquisitely formed pendant hanging on a delicately thin platinum chain. The bijou is obviously expensive and finely wrought. It is reminiscent of the white blossoms we'd somehow summoned from the vanishing cabinet; just like the one he'd left for me while I slept. The same one still pressed between the pages of my copy of _Hogwarts: A History._

"Edelweiss. Remember?"

_How could I forget?_ I nod quickly several times, struggling to keep my composure. I know I should refuse this quietly extravagant gift, but I can't make myself relinquish it. I am also still unable to catch my breath long enough to properly thank him.

Bemused by my shocked silence, he stands and plucks the necklace from its velvet case. I watch him move stealthily around me. I feel him stop to stand behind me. I keep very still, waiting.

"So, I have discovered a way to silence you," he murmurs, half to himself. His hand holding the jewelry reaches over my shoulder. "Hold up your hair," he whispers, in a voice that could charm snakes.

Unhesitatingly, I do as I'm told.

"I thought we were going to practice?" I say with a little whine that annoys even me. I can do nothing to call back the words that fall from my lips, a sorry attempt to drive off this sudden attack of nerves as I feel his fingers glide against the chain at the base of my neck.

"Must it always be about lessons with you, Bookworm?" he asks with a soft chuckle. "It is Christmas," he adds patiently, deftly working the clasp to keep the necklace around my neck. His breathy words slide silkily against my ear and across my cheek. I fight to keep my eyes open and not allow my body to fall back against the strength and hardness of him.

_How can so simple an act, like helping me with jewelry, feel so sinfully seductive? _

At last satisfied with his work, he turns me to face him. I let loose my hair and he patiently arranges my curly locks around my shoulders.

"I needed... _wanted_ to do this for you." His gaze dips to the flower resting at the hollow of my neck. He touches it lightly with a fingertip. My pulse leaps at this gentle pressure.

"Exquisite," he whispers wondrously.

"Thank you, Draco. It _is_... quite," I finally manage to say.

"_You_ are, too," he adds quietly, without hesitation.

My eyes go wide again before they shyly slide away to view the flames dancing in the hearth. I am at a complete loss. His unexpected gift, his compliments, words so foreign when directed at me, throw me off kilter. His every action tonight leaves me bereft of any sort of response, much less the proper one.

Seeming to sense my unease, he pulls away to again lay, like a pleased feline, on the chaise. I silently thank him for giving me some much needed breathing space.

"Have a seat, Hermione," he suggests after what seems like an interminable amount of time spent staring at each other.

My eyes swing around nervously in the sparsely furnished room. I find myself wishing desperately for my own seat located a healthy distance away from him. Amazed, I watch a squashy armchair magically appear across the way from where he's languorously draped himself.

The armchair is audaciously scarlet. He laughs at the sight of it, so incongruous to the room's decor. I laugh, too, and at last the strained tension between us dissipates. As our laughter dies, we smirk at one another. I step toward the red chair.

"Ready to start our lessons, then?" he asks.

"Yes, Malfoy, whenever you are."

"My godfather claims Occlumency is a highly useful, though obscure branch of magic," Malfoy drawls while I curl into my seat. The silkiness of his voice reaches out to twine around me. "According to our textbook, the very one you claim is rubbish, it _is_ just that. It is the one weapon you have against Legilimency, Riddle's favorite sport.

"I assume you know that a Legilimens can access your thoughts and feelings, even influence them." He stops, waiting for my nod. I notice that he adopts the voice of a lecturing professor. "A master Occlumens can suppress certain thoughts, emotions, and memories, even turn a Legilimens' talent against himself, keeping him away from the truth and leaving him only to believe just what the Occlumens allows him to see."

I find myself mentally taking notes as my fingers itch for a quill and parchment.

"These planted thoughts can be either truth or lies," he continues. "In such a case, it is not obvious to the Legilimens that Occlumency is being used against him. Therefore, with a master Occlumens, Legilimency is not an exact science. Snape can do this, and his exceptional talent for it is the only reason he remains alive despite having to work so closely to Voldemort."

My mouth moves into a slight scowl. I recall the night Harry came storming into the dorms fuming at Snape. He hadn't been able to repel most of the attacks Snape leveled at him during a Dumbledore-required, private Occlumency lesson with his most hated professor. I'd been horrified that Harry, in his stubborn dislike of Snape, simply refused to keep trying to learn how to shut Voldemort out. This memory fades and I notice that Malfoy had stopped lecturing to watch whatever emotions crossed my face as I'd been daydreaming.

I motion for him to continue.

"In any case," he says slightly louder, checking to see that he has my attention, "to resist Riddle, who is a highly accomplished Legilimens, will require a great deal of willpower. It is the same sort of willpower you will have to call up when I teach you how to resist the Imperius." He stops to stare at me, to increase the drama of his words, I suppose.

"Granger, you will have to exercise a high degree of mental and emotional discipline. I honestly do not believe that you can do it. All that you seem to think and feel is written all over your face, your body. I do not even have to practice Legilimency on you to know what you are thinking."

I bristle visibly.

_Arrogant prat._

"Stop calling me names in your head." He lets out a laugh when I whip my eyes to his, revealing my surprise that he'd guessed accurately.

All at once, he is serious again. "As I said, Granger, you have much to learn and I will give you an added incentive to accomplish all of this. With the mastery of this sort of self-control, there is the added bonus of being able to resist the influence of Veritaserum."

His comment reminds me of the chipper voice on the tele attempting to sell me a CD collection that comes with an additional song and a money back guarantee.

"So, you're going to try to read my mind," I summarize.

Malfoy firms his mouth, giving me a tight nod. "And, you are going to have to try to keep me out of it, Granger."

I regard him in silence, my jaw clenching. Harry had described the feeling of invasion when he'd failed to keep Snape out of his head. It seemed rather unpleasant. This suddenly doesn't seem like a good idea anymore.

"We do not have to do this, Hermione," he reminds me quietly. "Just say the word."

"And then what, Malfoy? You go on to kill Dumbledore to preserve your cover as a double agent?" My voice rises in agitation. "No, I don't think so, Draco. We're doing this. Just give me a moment to collect myself."

His eyes are trained on me, focused on my hand which I discover is absently fiddling with the pendant.

"Since it is the first lesson, I will permit you to do so, Granger," his tone is now irritatingly business-like, "but you will not be able to request such things in the future. After all, Voldemort will allow no such luxuries."

I nod, focusing not on his scolding, but on trying to hide while in plain view.

I work to keep the placid expression on my face. Inside, however, I am frantically racing around in my mind, gathering every tiny wisp of memory from the past summer — the contents of the medical folder my dad had so tearfully handed me, every single waking, sorrowful, and idle thought of my parents in Muggle England, the undeniable curiosity I have about my true wizarding parentage, and, finally, the unwanted knowledge of how I am related to Salazar Slytherin. When I feel I am done, I scourge my thoughts and memories once more for the last remnants that might reveal my secret. I also grab up all of the facts related to Malfoy's book and how I came to procure the true knowledge of my bloodline.

When I am satisfied that I've weeded out every last stray thought, I throw it all into the deepest, darkest recesses of my long-touted, overly large brain. I imagine conjuring up a heavy steel door with rows and rows of bolted locks to keep this clever wizard with the silver eyes out. With sudden acuity, I realize that the mental power to do all of this in the space of a few minute leaves everything else open to Draco's examination.

Hurriedly, I think back to his earlier lecture and come to a dreadful conclusion. As much as I despise him knowing the things I will now allow him to see, I realize with some despair that I do need the distraction of these particular thoughts to keep Malfoy from delving any deeper into my mind. I have no doubt that he's a practiced hand at this and I'll prove little resistance to his magic.

I again increase my stronghold against the imagined steel door that hides my true secrets away from him. Quickly, I summon together all of the other thoughts I'd so recently fought against relinquishing to him. Gazing steadily at Malfoy's chest, I complete the internal job of scattering these images around in my head. Resigned, I tuck these things into the recently emptied folds of my memory, filling voids that I'd left in my earlier haste to hide my more damning thoughts. I am intent on using these decoys to distract him if he manages to break through my magical ward and venture into my mind.

* * *

_**POV: Draco**_

* * *

Some of us, like Potter, have a natural magical talent. Though it pains me to admit it, Potter is exceptional on a broom. His skills at flight are second to none. I, on the other hand, have wide and varied abilities, and I am especially gifted at Occlumency.

I can thank my father for fashioning the strong foundation of skills that make me especially adept at this sort of magic. From as early as I can remember, I have been taught to shut down my emotions. I suppose this is why my mind is impenetrable by such gifted Legilimens as Snape, my crazed Aunt, and just once this past summer Voldemort himself.

"Malfoys do not cry!" my father had thundered at me one day when I was a small boy, still in short trousers. I had somehow managed to lose my favorite pup and was frantic to find him. I had rushed into his office to beseech his assistance. In my bluster, I'd caught him in a rare moment. He looked world weary, hunched over, head in hands. It was the first time I had ever seen him with any sort of real feelings on his face. When he caught the sound of my labored breathing at his doorway, I will never forget the invisible cold wall that fell between us when he turned to regard my tear-drenched face with his ugly sneer. His unrelenting gaze revealed only scorn at my dishevel, which clearly indicated to him my earlier, frenzied search of the grounds. It had been a wild effort, born out of obvious love and care for the animal I sought to find.

"Wipe your eyes this instant! You are a Malfoy! You are my son and are not to behave in this manner," he had bellowed at me from behind his imposing desk. "How you feel about that mongrel, this ridiculous _love_..." he'd spat the word as though a curse. So forceful was his vehemence that I shrank away from him. "It makes you weak! You must never show _love_. What you love can be ripped from you! Just. Like. That." The loud snapping of his fingers to highlight each word made me jump. "Cease crying this instant!" he'd shouted.

I stifled a sob, then. My eyes widened at his rage.

"You cannot show fear or sadness either! No one must know they possess the power to hurt you," he shouted. His hands fisted against the top of his desk. "You will never show _pity_ or _compassion, _or so help me..." To my ears each foreign word he had stressed sounded filthy as he flung them at me.

"To have feelings for something so transient as another being is a grave mistake, Draco. If you are to be my proper heir, it is best you learn all of _this_ now." His light colored eyes gleamed in the slowly darkening room. Shocked frozen, I simply stared at him, my feet glued to the spot at his threshold.

"You cannot reveal _anything_ of yourself. Ever." His voice, menacing to my young ears, sent my heart thundering. "If you do, if you are ever so weak as to wear your heart on your sleeve, it will be the death of you!" His words barely registered in my six-year-old brain.

Then, Father, my unquestioned hero, shook his head. His long, fine hair seemed to hang in the air before softly falling around his face like a slipping halo. He looked away then, and I, ever so slowly, backed out of the room as though creeping away from a momentarily stunned monster. Afterwards, I remember running to search for my mother, who was then only slightly more compassionate than Father.

Later that evening we congregated in the sitting room. My dog had been found and I was ecstatic, playing with him on the rug. My mother was smiling at my antics, but was keeping her distance. Suddenly, my father whistled, summoning my puppy to his side away from me. While my dog eagerly followed his orders, Father kept his gaze trained on me, keeping careful watch over my face. He ran his fingers bearing the ring of the Malfoy crest down my puppy's head and my pup gazed adoringly at him. I wanted to smile, but decided against it considering he had earlier commanded me not to show anything of myself to him. With his large hand, Father gently moved my hound to the foot of his chair. The dog's tail bounced. Father gave him another, almost loving, pat.

Then, my eyes widened as I watched Father calmly take the wand from the console beside his chair. Horrified, I heard him speak the Killing Curse. It tumbled from his lips just as easily as his earlier curt request of the house elf to find him a lemon ice for dessert.

With a flick of his wand, I watched the life light die in my puppy's eyes. Father's stare pinned me to my seat, daring me to move, daring me to show _anything_. In that moment, I knew fear and wonder at my father's power. Just as quickly, I learned how to shove all of my feelings away from me because of his dangerous strength.

I fought my desire to cry out, to run over and throw my arms around my dog. I fought every natural instinct I had to show my love and care for my faithful friend. I turned away from the sight of him laying there, dead at my father's slippered feet. At long last, I gathered up what little courage I had, and without so much as a wince or a tear, I bravely met my father's eyes.

For once, in the depths of his gaze there appeared a small measure of pride at my ability to do as he had earlier demanded. Only a moment of silent praise and then it was gone like a flash. With its departure, I felt for the first time my heart's door slam shut to any love I ever held for the man. What remained was only duty. That night, I left his den, head held high, slowly marching to my room to grieve for my puppy in solitude.

The bleak memory of this leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I recall the terrible emptiness that had squeezed my heart until I could no longer breathe. I would not answer the quiet knock at my door that could only have been my mother coming to check on me. My silent weeping wracked my body. My throat choked at the new, unspeakable feelings of deep-seeded hatred and betrayal wrought by my father. I recalled the dying light in my hound's eyes, how it had flickered out as I watched helplessly. By killing him, my father killed all the innocence in me. Alone, I learned how to lick the invisible mortal wounds and, more importantly, how to gather the sort of emotional void in which to surround myself to become just like my father.

I had first used this blankness to block out my boyhood shock and sorrow. Now, with some years behind me, I see how this ability to ferret away my emotions allowed me to find comfort through my bullying of those I perceived as weaker. It felt good to give into the temptation of mocking those who still held on to the innocence my father had so ruthlessly stripped away from me. My primary targets, of course, had been Granger, Potter and Weasel. How easy it had been to lock away any feelings of compassion, mercy, and regret, by hiding it all under the darkness of my roiling anger. Even that fury was barely concealed beneath the all-encompassing carpet of emptiness inside of me.

Earlier this week, in my hospital bed, it occurred to me that my father could not accomplish what he commanded me to do. This summer and ever since the return of his Dark Lord, his emotions seem to have gotten the better of him, and because of that, he rots in Azkaban. He has passionately declared his fatherly love for me, the sort of love he denied me that day when he cold-heartedly murdered by beloved pet. It was the very love he had taught me to eschew so I could no longer return the feeling to him. _How ironic._

My near-death experience, only days old, likely is the cause of my out of character introspection. Regardless the reason, I am thankful for it. For once, my mind is clear enough to see how I had once known a sort of whole-hearted, innocent love. Having my father so cruelly cut it off in its infancy seems to perfectly explain my underdeveloped ability to fully feel any such emotion for anyone or anything now. It is fear that keeps me from truly loving, for I know that with just a flick of a wand, such a powerful emotion can leave a gaping hole in my already wounded heart.

I shake my head at a memory of Pansy from about two summers ago. Due to a close family association with the Parkinsons, it became habitual for us to be in one another's company when our parents were otherwise engaged. I will never forget the sunny day in the garden when she came to me, heart in hand, offering me her love. I mocked her for it, laughed cruelly at her, called her weak and useless for even thinking of feeling for me in such a way. With a disdainful sneer, I told her essentially what my father had drilled into me when I was only a small boy.

"Get rid of that feeling, Pansy," I spat at her. "It means nothing to me. I don't want your heart and I don't need your love."

She had run away in tears, heartbroken, eventually finding solace elsewhere. Still, it did not stop her from spreading the trumped up rumor around school that I was her boyfriend. In truth, there was very little to be lost and quite a lot to be gained by posing as Pansy's steady beau. Her lies served me well, very well indeed. Pansy's false claims kept other girls, and their potential to give rise to any of my feelings, far, far away. When she spread falsehoods, she was also quite generous in her imaginative descriptions of my masculine abilities.

While this did wonders for my ego and reputation, I sometimes wonder if she had done it all for spite. I imagine it might have delighted her to raise such expectations about me, knowing full well that I have little experience with such things and would fail dismally if ever I decided to get some. Regardless, her fabricated indiscretions with me kept me high in the pecking order among my Slytherin brothers, and because of this, I did little to stop her wagging tongue. The added frosting was that my parents were also left to believe that I had already settled on a pureblooded girl to marry.

Though she and I know the futility of further attempts to try breaking down my protective walls, she has, every so often, tried to scrape away at the rough edges. I can always rely on Pansy to try breaking through even though she knows I lack the ability for such closeness. After all, I barely allowed her to touch me when she was just a playmate at the Manor.

The upkeep of our sham relationship, however, has required her nearness. So, at least in public, I allowed her a kiss or caress when I knew others were looking and watching. These were highly orchestrated, cold, and calculated moves, meant for an audience when I thought the viewing of such intimacies might serve a higher purpose. I performed with gusto, no doubt leaving Pansy somewhat dazed and confused. Considering my behavior toward her, I wonder why she continues to remain loyally at my side. I am faintly surprised that my frostiness fails to push Pansy away as it has so many others.

Yes, this lack of feeling has been a cold comfort. Even so, it is a comfort I reach for whenever _any_ emotion becomes too much for me to bear. It is what I clawed for in the bathroom while facing Potter before his fury literally tore into me. It is what slipped from my grasp when I had subconsciously released it to grab onto a much brighter memory, one that surprised me at how instantaneously it focused my mind on the task at hand.

_Those damned flowers, and Hermione Granger amongst them._

I watch her from across the room. Her face is screwed in concentration. I work to keep my growing admiration off my face. I wonder at her, this curiosity, this plucky girl, who manages to break down my every defense while the mere thought of her allows me to discover a mental clarity much stronger than the empty void I had been using to shield myself from anything that might actually make me feel.

From across the carpet she looks up to catch my quiet perusal of her. She flushes and I am pleased she is not unaffected. The pearly pendant I had given her is luminous in the firelight. It is perfection against the flawless skin of her throat. She worries it with her fingertips as she prepares herself for our lesson.

It would be all too easy for me to reach into her thoughts now, but I know it would be in bad form to do it. Besides, she will freely offer me the opportunity to do so in a moment as she tries to steel herself against my attempts. I am curious to discover whether she has any skill in this magic. For her sake, I hope she does. My arrogance, though, believes she will be able to shield very little from me.

Like a child in a candy store I relish the pleasure of imagining what I will find in the treasure trove of her mind. I try to decide exactly what it is I wish to seek once inside her. At last I settle on something, a very small thing, that I wish to uncover. Perhaps finding it and pulling it into me so I can examine it on my own will help me tuck away these dangerous thoughts and feelings I have for her.

I wish to learn something from this lesson too. I need to discover for myself how to lock these precious little things about her into a safe little cubby in my own mind. I have to do this so Voldemort will not discover them in me and use them against us.

"OK, I'm ready, Malfoy," her clear voice rings out and shocks me out of my thoughts.

I raise an eyebrow and push myself up. I toss my head and settle into an upright seated position. Taking in the sight of her I see she has propped her elbow against the arm of her chair. Her palm cradles her cheek as she gazes at me. A secret smile touches her lips and then it is gone.

"Are you sure?" I ask, not really knowing why I am asking for further permission.

She nods, her stare unblinking.

I sigh and then focus my energies.

I concentrate on delving into her mind with the spell I have used before. I am practiced enough that I no longer require a wand. Though my previous use of Legilimency has not been numerous, the times I had practiced it, I found it absurdly easy to complete the task. This time, however, I realize I do not need to be swift or inconsiderate in my entry.

This time, with this witch, I want to be careful.

I feel her wards push against me, keeping the magic I press against her out.

"Good, girl," I croon, "that's it. "

She appears as though she's resting, not straining at all. The block she has thrown up against my magic seems to strengthen at my words of encouragement

"I hope you have locked away all your secrets, Hermione," I say in a tone that I know causes her to bristle. It seems I need to add this new dimension to my offense in order to break through her defenses. "It will be easy to get to them once I find the way in," I taunt.

She seems to interpret my words as a dare, which allows her to fortify her magical barrier against me. I prod thoughtfully at her magical shield, duly impressed by her ability to lock me out. I pull away slightly and adjust my strategy.

"Now, how surprising," I say, adding a jeer to my voice. "It seems you are locked up just as tight as all the boy say you are." I prod her magic more roughly. My words are meant to get a rise out of her. I am also annoyed that she is not proving to be as easy to penetrate as I first imagined.

I hear her gasp at my unsavory insinuation. It seems to work like a charm and I very easily discover my opportunity to pierce through her magical palisade — a single glimmering little hole where once there was none shimmers in front of me. My magic dives into the opening. Her body stiffens at the powerful thrust of it. The sound of her dismay has me stemming my glee at finding my way inside. The pulse of her magic around mine spears a sort of pleasure into the very core of my magical being. My desire to force entry cools entirely as I watch the distress on her face. I pull back, hovering within this very secret part of her, waiting patiently for her to become accustomed to the weight of my presence inside.

"You should not listen to the filth that comes from my mouth," I scold softly as she calms and begins to regain her magical footing. The feel of my supernatural energy partially enveloped by hers distracts me from the task of searching through her mind. I also find myself quite angry that she is not fighting harder against me.

"I am only saying these words to get you to lose your grip on your surprisingly strong control," I continue to speak, needing to hear my own voice, fearful of becoming fully engulfed by her magic. "I know how to hurt you, Hermione, and I am telling you now that I am not above using all of this knowledge to help make you stronger. Believe me, you have to be stronger than _this_, Granger. You cannot allow him to violate you so easily."

From my seat, I watch how her hands come up to gingerly cradle her head. I feel her magic pulse again, gripping mine and trying to force me out. The effort of this has her sitting up. I observe how she begins muttering something to herself and then starts rocking back and forth. Alarmed, I pull my magic out of her completely and get up to swiftly move to her side. Concerned, I place my hands against hers which are still holding her head.

My fingers on her skin send a tremor of energy racing through me at breakneck speed. Her rocking ceases. This magic between us seems more powerful than ever before. I have to take a moment to allow it to settle before I can begin to forcibly slow my pulse. With a gulp, and a little turn of my palms against the back of her hands, I force her to look up at me.

"You are showing a great deal of trust by letting me in, Hermione," I praise her. The soft sable of her eyes draws me closer. "I know that you would not allow just anyone to do this to you."

She whimpers a little and I feel a pang in my chest when I hear the sound. My hands tighten around hers.

"We will stop now," I decide shakily, starting to release her.

"No!" Her hands turn under mine to fully grasp my fingers, disallowing my retreat.

I scowl at her. _What is wrong with her? Why won't she leave it alone?_

"I am hurting you!" My impatience has me nearly shouting at her.

"It doesn't matter! I knew that you would hurt me when we started this, Malfoy!"

Her cry hangs in the air. I snatch my hands away. Dropping them to my sides, I clench the muscles at my jaw. I know she doesn't mean the words quite the way I hear them, but they infuriate me anyway. I fight for calm.

"What exactly is it that you want me to do to you?" I ask. My voice is strained, my posture unwavering, belying the worry I have that I will be unable to continue even if she wants me to.

"Just keep doing what you're doing. Taunt me, test me. Whatever! Just do it!"

"I am not going to rip into you like some animal," I say, fighting to keep the snarl out of my tone.

"But isn't that just what you said the Death Eaters would do to me, Malfoy? They'd take without asking, rape my mind. According to you, they'll be ruthless." She is sitting upright now, on the cusp of shouting, her tone accusing. Her fists are clenched in challenge.

That incorrigible spark, the fight that is Hermione, lights her eyes. I want to shut myself away from the brightness of it. It pains me to hear the surety of her voice, her common sense, but I force myself to listen anyway.

"This is the perfect lesson for both of us, Draco." Her voice gentles just a fraction. "While you're at it, why don't you practice being absolutely vile, too? How can I learn to fight off their advances when you back off at the slightest hint of my discomfort?"

I stare at her. The rush of white hot fury her words ignite threatens to incinerate my insides.

"I. Am. Not. A. Death. Eater. Hermione." I bite out, turning away from her.

"I never said you were," she whispers at my back. "We both simply have to practice being what we have to be. We need to work at becoming what we don't want to be if this is ever going to succeed, Draco."

I fight the urge to throw us back into the same old argument we've been having since I showed her the prophecy. I know there is a new way to win this battle and it is how the Weasel and I mean to overcome her stubborn streak. I promised Weasley I would not hurt her, but perhaps hurting her is the only way to convince her that she can't do what she means to do.

* * *

_**Author's note: **_A hearty thank you to StarDuchess who is worth her weight in gold for her careful beta work on this chapter. She helped me smooth out a few rough spots and for that, I am ever so grateful. Her concise writing helps to overcome my tendency for flowery wordiness and keeps the story moving.


	23. PROTECT

**POV: Hermione**

* * *

Draco's back is turned to me and I know I've hurt him with my carelessly tossed comments. His movements indicate he's breathing rather hard and, even though I can't see his face, I know he's working on regaining his composure.

"Just do it, Draco," I continue to prompt impatiently. "It's OK."

At my words he whips around to face me again. I see he's lost his fight with self-control.

"IT IS NOT OK!" he roars at me. His magic is visible, crackling around him. "Do you want to know how it feels to be violated that way? DO you, Hermione?!"

My eyes widen at the little lunge he makes toward me. I know I have little time to batten down the hatches against the storm of his magical invasion.

"THIS is how it feels!"

I feel the pressure of his hand against my shoulder and let out a cry as his magic ruthlessly pierces into me.

* * *

**POV: Draco**

* * *

_How dare she push me to this!_

Gritting my teeth, I silently scream the spell that has me thrusting into her with astonishing ease. I look directly into Granger's eyes as I make my way inside her. I purposely ignore the unconcealed panic on her fine features. This was what stopped me before. This time I show her no mercy. I force myself inside of her, heedlessly ripping apart her hastily thrown barrier. I hear her keening cry at my intrusion, but it is muffled, as though from a great distance away.

I adjust to the double sight of Legilimency, quite disorienting at first. In front of me, I see her. She's gone rigid in the red overstuffed arm chair. She holds herself in a sort of self-hug, her knuckles white as she grips her folded forearms. As I watch her helplessly react physically to my intrusion, I am also able to see _into_ her.

At last, like an open book before me are the secret folds of her mind. All of her thoughts and memories, visions and hopes, darkest secrets and fanatasies are mine to peruse at my leisure. I take faint notice of the trails of a few wispy thoughts that leave the space I've entered. I don't give chase, knowing I will eventually get to them. Being inside her this way has somehow doused the fiery anger that led to this invasion. I feel myself regaining control, remembering again what I want to accomplish now that I find myself here. Her magic pulses brighter and I feel her beginning to fight back. The cause of her resistance is backed by some impossibly strong emotion, and because of this, the ward she uses does nothing to keep me out.

She has not averted her gaze. The stare we share gives new meaning to her eyes being the windows to her soul. Alarmed that I may lose myself in her, I place a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to anchor myself as I begin to delve more deeply. She does not pull away from my touch as I expect she might.

Spine. She is amazingly resilient. I don't know why this still surprises me.

At the feel of the side of my hand grazing her neck, everything in her mind solidifies around me. My grip on her shoulder intensifies. She lets out a low, distressed mewl as I push further in. I stop a moment to savor once again the pulsing of her sweet magic around the unforgiving piston of mine. I don't assist her by prompting her to empty herself of all emotion. I don't bother to taunt. All I focus on is my need to show her how horrific this spell can be.

I allow myself to take in the sensation of her body's rapid in-and-out breathing. Her thoughts, at first having swirled around me, settle at last. I see they are methodically organized, tidily indexed and cross referenced. Very clever witch, this one. The layers are deep and interwoven. Her memories, ideas, and thoughts are intricately connected to one another, increasing fact retention and understanding of the most arcane information.

Purposefully, I slow my magical trespass, not wanting to accidentally sever any of the strings that hold these things together.

I begin to riffle through her memories. I relish her excited and inquisitive ideas about libraries – from Muggle to magical – some memories of visits... others wishes for future exploration. She has wondrous thoughts of everything Hogwarts. With her visions of our school, I am presented with some of her joys: images of Weasley and the pink hue of puppy love surrounds him for nearly as long as we've been at Hogwarts. I wonder at the rosy images of their times together, laughing, hugging, fighting. Something foreign clenches within my chest at the sight of their joyful ease with one another.

I distract myself from her thoughts of Weasley by turning to flip through her picture memories of Muggle England and find myself staring at an image of her hand clasped in the hand of a boy I do not know. I turn to examine her memory of this mystery male's laughing face and feel her excitement at being near him at this precise moment. Her attention shifts to a large flickering screen and I hear her thoughts relay his furtive whispers, telling her of his happiness at finding himself beside her while they watch some sort of Muggle entertainment. The thrill that rushes through her and into me has me biting back a snarl. I do not yet dare look to her thoughts on Potter. It occurs to me that I may not be strong enough to discover the thing I had at first intended to find.

I flip up a different fold and images of Gilderoy Lockhart outlined by girlish valentine hearts flutter around me. I watch with growing amusement as the sound of Granger's younger twitter effusively defends the useless wizard to her best friends. Beneath my palm, I feel Hermione shrink away a little in embarrassment over this disastrous memory. It makes me chuckle.

Then, quite unexpectedly, I stumble on something else, hidden at first, like some dirty thing hastily thrown beneath a rug before opening the door to unexpected company. It is a memory of me. I pause. She tenses. It's not a time I recall easily.

Through her mind's eye I watch a darker scene unfold. She'd darted a glance around a corner of the castle to find me sitting with Crabbe and Goyle. There is a look of pure disdain on my face as I hear myself say, "I know one thing: last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood _died_. So I bet it's only a matter of time before one of them's killed this time… I hope it's Granger."

_How many times had I thoughtlessly spoken this wish aloud during our second year?_ This image dissolves away only to light onto me again. I don't remember where I was or that she was even there when it happened. But, this time I am talking to someone else, it seems it might have been Pansy, or any number of faceless Slytherins.

"I'm surprised all the Mudbloods haven't packed their bags by now," my 12-year-old self crows. "Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it can't be Granger." I feel the memories of her bewildered response to my words as I watch her hand grab hold of Potter's before he can launch himself toward me.

"The cockroach isn't worth the detention, Harry," her whisper masks a swirl of enraged and horrified emotions which send an unwanted prickle up my spine. This scene fades quickly and I am brought to her dorm room where she is looking at herself in the mirror. A single tear slides down her face. When I catch the forlorn look in her eye reflected in her mirror, something clenches in my chest and I try to disconnect my magic from hers, unnerved by this private moment I feel wholly unworthy of witnessing. The reflected image of her dark watery eyes haunts me, insisting I pay penance by staying to watch. I am so deep inside her now that I can feel her despair within me. I feel an awful desire to join her in tears; it catches at my throat. Another fade and she takes me to a shared memory, one I distinctly remember. It is of a night during second year when I had snuck into the infirmary to catch a glimpse of her petrified form.

"You should have died, _Mudblood_," I had hatefully hissed at her. I hadn't thought she could hear me. Surely at the time, I likely didn't care if she did. I recall with shocking clarity exactly what had driven me to her bedside, but I push away the protesting memories of my own selfish motives so I can take in _her_ version of that night's events. Her memories tell me that, even statue-still, Granger was able to hone her vision in on the nasty snarl of my lips and the drops of spittle that had collected on them as I lashed out at her.

_What have I done to make Malfoy abhor me so much as to wish me dead_?

The recall of her single, silent, forlorn thought ricochets in her mind and rockets into me. I gasp at the ache of this remembered upset. All at once I am awash in shame. Unable to view any more, I quickly pull out of the memory to find myself in real time, back in the Room of Requirement, a more grown up Granger holding onto my fingers at her shoulder.

Her gentle effort to comfort _me_ is nearly my undoing.

"Go on," she croaks, not sounding as if she can withstand much more of this. She grasps my wrist, not allowing me to let go. I suddenly realize that she is not going to fight me with Occlumency. She's _letting me _look, discovering for herself that there is also power in succumbing to my magic.

Without a word, I toss my head to clear the fringe of bangs shrouding my eyes. I focus my magic and enter again. I see her memories of me from earlier this year. An errant image of us in the library, me asleep and her looking at the book from the Manor. I remember this night, but must have been slumbering through this particular moment in time.

She's crying again, this time into the book. I feel the familiar stirring of helpless rage at the sight of her tears. I see that she is intently examining the Gaunt family tree. Her wand touches the lower half of the page. Before I can discover the cause of her distraught, Weasley appears in her memory. I zoom in to enlarge the image of her, trying to listen to their exchange, but Hermione strengthens her magical barrier against me and the image of her, the book and Weasley fade away even as I try to grasp onto it. I make a mental note to take a closer look at the book in my room. By our next lesson, if there is one, I promise to discover the secret she is keeping from me.

With this passing avowal, I suddenly find myself immersed in images of myself, all from this year. I notice the softer patina she gives her memories of us together in the Room of Hidden Things, a stark contrast to the hard edges of the earlier, more painful images of our younger selves.

I see my sleeping visage, well, what appears to her as me sleeping, anyway. I feel her memories of how my hair felt as she ran her fingers through it. Not all is rosy between us, however. She seems to remember every minuscule disagreement. My grey eyes turn dark and drowsy when her memories show me in my dishevel as I attempted and dismally failed to pay attention to her tales of woe in the Room of Hidden Things. I am pleased to discover that she much prefers the term Bookworm to anything else I have ever called her. I take note that my sneer bothers her. _Immensely_. I file this knowledge away for future use as well.

As I prod this part of her mind, I startle at a thought, not a memory, but...

_Merlin! The Bookworm does have a vivid imagination!_

I find myself pleasantly stirring at the arousing images and thoughts that swirl around me that feature the both of us in various... _ah_... states of undress. I feel the sudden warming in my lower regions at one specific image. The Bookworm is wearing nothing but a loose Slytherin tie atop what can only be one of my unbuttoned white dress shirts. I watch the image of her confidently sauntering over to me. I find myself disappointed as this image of her fades, but then I am thoroughly delighted as I am greeted with another, one of her scantily-clad body curling into and clinging to mine in what can only be described as her romanticized version of post-coital bliss.

I hear her gurgled gasp as she realizes what has captured my interest. I stand stock still above her and feel my pleased masculine smirk snake its way onto my lips. I feel myself harden as the image of her fantasy self continues to murmur sexily about how satisfied I must be to have at last captured the golden snitch that should have rightfully gone to a Gryffindor.

"Naughty, Granger," I admonish throatily, as hearty chuckle wants to escape from my chest. I am both surprised by her healthy imagination and flattered beyond words by the starring role I play in her erotic daydreams. Perhaps I should show her mine sometime, I think idly.

"It would only be fair, Malfoy," she says with a sultry pout. The sound of her put-out answer to my errant thought shocks me out of my woolgathering. Is she somehow able to read my mind when I am in hers? Or did I plant my idea into her head? If so, it's the first time I have ever done something like that.

_The possibilities of such a connection existing between us is incredibly powerful and seemingly limitless._

"Are you quite finished?" Her annoyance is clear.

"I have not even begun, Granger," I reply ominously. My magic again hovers, but does not plunder.

"In or out, Malfoy? I haven't got all day," she retorts. Her discomfort seems lessened. I take some comfort in this.

"Why, Granger, I had no idea you could speak so bawdily. I realize now how neglectful I have been in showering you with such attentions. In. That's where I'd like to be."

"Prick," I hear her mutter.

"Oh, it will be more than a prick if we ever get to _that _lesson, Bookworm," I promise with a waggle of my eyebrows. My lewdness is rewarded with the sound of her quick intake of breath and a blanching of her face. As soon as the dawning of full comprehension reaches her eyes, I plunge into her again. This time in search for what I should have gone after to begin with.

I want to see her thoughts about Potter and how this Muggle-born witch truly feels about the Boy Who Lived.

I don't know what to expect, really. I approach this with some trepidation, knowing that her images of him might likely be more intimate than the ones she has of me. The impact of such a reality check would certainly wreck havoc on my psyche, but, I hope, such dreadful images might also serve as a necessary antidote to this growing tenderness I find myself having for Granger.

I need her to show me, or I need to find for myself, her secret love and longing for my longtime rival, if only to convince myself that any idiotic pursuit of her will lead to my eventual downfall. She seems to guess my intent. Her magic claws maniacally at me, frantically tugging at my magic to redirect it to more lurid images specifically fashioned, I'm sure, to distract me. They are certainly far more tempting to view.

"Granger," I groan hoarsely, with a bemused shake of my head.

I sense the moment she decides her efforts against my Legilimency are futile. Then, like the index of a textbook, she offers up information that has me immersed in nearly every single one of her memories of Potter.

_Clever, this effort to drown me in details._

Warmth, care, friendship, comfort, worry, respect, confusion, and, yes, love. It glows red, not like the rosy hue she has in her memories of Weasley, but a blazing red, so hot that I fear it might burst into flame. The spurt of jealousy is impossible to control. It eases only when I see there are no images of a heated embrace, no desires to be in his bed. Not one thought to rival even the least lascivious one she has of me. There is only one thing– one kiss.

I quickly realize that this is no fantasy, but a memory of that awful night in the corridor. There is a pang of pain in the general vicinity of my heart as I contemplate closing my eyes against this image that has already been engraved in my own mind. In a masochistic effort to purge myself of desiring a future with her, I continue to watch, knowing that a second viewing of it seen through her eyes might be the revelation I need to rid myself of my growing feelings for her.

I am rocked by the shock of this being her first kiss, the taste of chocolate, wetness, pleasure, dizziness. This immersion into her sensations makes me so incredibly furious that I want to rail at her for having the audacity to not even bother to hide this one memory from me. Just as I am about to roar at her for her absolute ineptitude at Occlumency, I feel her magic clamp down around me, blocking me from seeing anymore.

Though absolutely disgusted with her for having these feelings toward Potter and his kisses, her sudden surge of power to keep me from seeing more has me truly intrigued. I press on, deciding to take her on her word that she wants me to act every bit the evil and vile Death Eater. Doing it this way will only prove to her how unskilled she is at this sort of magic. It is also a handy excuse to continue to pry.

"What is it, Hermione?" I purr seductively, knowing every step in this intricate dance that will eventually have her opening to me. "What is it that you want to keep hidden from me, witch?"

She stiffens beneath my grip.

_Something there. _Something I _want_ to see, perhaps even _need_ to see.

"What did Potter do to you in the dark, Bookworm?" I venture silkily, though my own words rip at me. "Did he make you feel something for him? Maybe Potty gave you a glimpse of pleasure you never knew yourself capable of? Did you suddenly realize your undying love for him in his single, pathetic little kiss? Did you feel his, likely lacking, ardor for you against your own body, Granger?" I recapture the recent taunt in my tone. Thoughts of Potter and her together do this to me, making me lash out in anger at the nearest body.

"Is that what's making you go stiff as a board under my hand? Show me, Granger!" My threatening bark sounds too similar to Father's commanding voice. I wonder at the venom in my words even as I speak them aloud. "There is no need to hide such foolish sentimentality from the likes of me, Bookworm. Have you forgotten that I am an unfeeling bigot, destined to be a Death Eater, just like my wretched forebearers? Forever cowardly, like my own weak mother? Perhaps you don't remember what a vile pureblood prat I am? Worse, you've forgotten that I am only out to save my own skin? What do I care what a Muggle-born like you _feels_?"

I hear her whimper at the effort to ignore my biting words while concentrating on summoning the strength to keep my magic at bay.

"Give in to my magic, Granger. Let it wash over you," I encourage, using a slightly sinister tone that might have even tempted Eve. "Let me see, Hermione. Are you trying to protect me from your true feelings for Potter? Do not bother, witch. I know your bedside declarations of having feelings for me are only due to the fact that you thought I would be dead that following morning. I don't need you to care for me.

"Frankly, Granger, your pathetic heartfelt declarations of love are the absolute last thing I need. I certainly hope you are not holding onto some ridiculous hope that I am at all capable of reciprocating such feelings." I add a dry laugh to punctuate the harshness of my words. "I refuse to care a whit for someone with so lowly a pedigree as you, Mudblood."

Though the word is jarring for me to spit out, the last line is necessary for me to say, just as it is vitally important for her to hear.

She chokes at my sneering delivery.

"You self-loathing arse," she seethes between gritted teeth. "How dare you belittle me and how I feel! For once in your life, I want you to see that you are already more than what you think you can be!"

_Not quite the reaction I am looking for. _Anger, yes, but not a scalding rebuke such as this.

Her brown eyes glint with righteous fury and I know that my words have unleashed a power in her that I am incapable of countering.

As though wrenching open the dam that holds back the water of her deeper emotions, I am suddenly gasping for air, drowning in the knowledge that while she was engaged in her first kiss with Potter all of her thoughts and passions were centered on _me_. This would have ordinarily soothed and inflated my bruised ego, but I catch sight of something else entirely, something that she has clearly been trying to repress. Something far more revealing about her feelings for me than I care to know.

I brace myself against her masterful use of Occlumency, through which she reveals exactly what she wants me to see. Buoyed by her anger, Hermione assaults me with the memory she holds of me in the corridor that night of Potter's fateful kiss.

I examine myself with a horrified sort of curiosity. My tightly held mask of contempt is wholly absent. Instead, I see myself at my most vulnerable. I am completely, alarmingly disheveled. My hair is tousled. The dark circles beneath my eyes are noticeably gone. My facial features are at complete ease, outwardly showing a fraction of the joy I know I held after the innocent hours spent in Hermione's company. I'd been humming a blasted Christmas carol, for Merlin's sake.

The way she cradles this image of me in her memory, I know it is a moment she cherishes, perhaps nearly as greedily as I hold onto the rare bit of happiness I had felt in that frozen stitch in time... before I turn to see her in Potter's arms.

Viewed through her mind's eye, the sight of my uncharacteristic show of contentment is as foreign to me as her occasional use of Muggle colloquialisms. What is worse is that in her memory I am awash in the pure white glow of something entirely different than the rosy and red colors of the loving thoughts she holds for her two best friends. This aura she has chosen for me pulses icy and hot all at once. I abruptly realize that the sparks I enjoy watching when our hands touch are but tiny fragments of a suggestion that there is something beyond ordinary magic that might possibly bind us together if we so choose to indulge in it.

I pull out of her immediately, bested again by the undesired truths she so willingly offers me. Her gaze searches and I refuse to allow her to see how deeply she's touched me with the generosity of... love she's offered–this exquisite, utterly fragile emotion I cannot allow myself to feel.

I cannot bear to watch anymore. I recoil against the tragedy of the next scene in this little melodrama. I know I caused it to unfurl this way, my own tongue lashing out to protect myself from the deep hurt I failed to shield myself against as I watched her kissing _him_. I refuse to lie witness to the all too familiar agony and helplessness I felt at how this precious, stolen bit of contentment was cruelly ripped away at the mere sight of her in the arms of my enemy.

"Enough," I announce gruffly, roughly shoving her away. Her surprised cry has me whipping my face to her, adjusting my sight to insure I had not actually hurt her with my manhandling.

"Draco, I–"

"We will not speak of this," I warn stoicly, worried again for her, for me, should the dangerous secret of this bond between us ever be revealed to anyone outside of this room.

The silence between us is heavy, filled with words yearning to be heard and a true reticence to speak them.

"Was I passably competent, Malfoy?" her tone carefully neutral as I begin striding toward the door. "With the Occlumency lesson, I mean."

I do not answer because I truly cannot judge her ability. I imagine she affected me far more than I affected her.

"Draco," she whispers to my retreating back, "please don't go."

"I regret that I am unable to stay," I announce the honest truth with as much hauteur as I can muster to mask the turmoil inside.

"Then, at least let me thank you for your time and for the... Christmas gift." I wonder at the composure in her voice, so business-like after such raw exposure.

Eyes focused on the door hinges, refusing to turn, I clench my jaw and nod to acknowledge her gratitude. I know if I give in to my desire to look at her, I will never be able to leave. For my sanity's sake, I know I cannot stay. I take another step toward the door.

"–and Draco?"

I stop my hand from turning the cold handle in my grasp. She clears her throat as though gathering the courage to continue. She starts off strong, but her voice eventually falters into a whisper.

"That last thing you experienced, that memory I have of you... what you saw of my true feelings for you... I know you don't wish me to speak the words, but it is simply enough for me that you know the extent of it. I would not presume, or expect, you to feel the same."

I surprise myself with the amount of anger I put into wrenching open the door. I make haste to cross the threshold into the darkened hall, but not before I hear the resigned sigh in her final intimation.

"Consider it a gift, Draco, freely given."

Before my body has a chance to override my brain's direct command to retreat, I forcefully slam the door shut against her and her naively romantic notions of love.

Holding back a frustrated sob, I pound my fist against the stone wall next to the tapestry of trolls in tutus. When the pain of this does nothing to block out the dread that envelopes me after her sincere revelation, I break into a dead run all the way back to my dormitory.

* * *

I throw myself onto my four poster and something sharp bites into my hip. I shove my hand under the pillows to fish out the curious cube Dumbledore bestowed on me several weeks ago. As I do most nights, I run my hand against the side of it and watch, mesmerized, as the letters light up beneath my touch.

Thanks to my Runes class, I have managed to conclude that this gift from Dumbledore is the wizarding version of a Himitsu Bako, originally created by Japanese muggles. Contemporary Himitsu Bako, or personal secret keeping boxes, open through a series of strategic movements of the wood itself. Wizarding varieties, I assume, must have more intricate solutions.

This one in my hand, I deduced, must open through a series of letter lighting, a series of passwords, if you will. It seems too simple an answer, but I have already exhausted my armory of opening and revelation spells trying to open it. I examine the curious cube again. Needing a diversion from recent occurrences, I look at the 25 letters on the upward facing side. Five letters across and five letters down.

The first row:** D B P F T**.  
The second row: H G R L H.  
The third row: **V O W I Z**.  
The fourth row: T C M H E  
The last row: C Y A O K.

I touch my finger to the P in the first row. The letter flashes silver white for a moment before turning into a shimmering blue. I touch an R in the second row, right below it and to my amazement, there is again a curious shock of silver white light, this time both the P and R stay this color and a sliver of bright light shoots around the letter tiles, connecting them.

With a quickening heartbeat, I look up, wishing to share this discovery with someone. The room is dark and I am thoroughly alone. I sigh and turn my thoughts to coming up with all the words I know that begin with P-R. Of course, being a Malfoy, the word PRIDE is the most obvious choice.

With a certain degree of conceit, I touch a fingertip to the I in the next line, but all the lights fade at once and I am left with the simple wooden cube again. I let out a sharp curse but stop myself before hurling the block at my wall. Instead, I reach for my wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The cube lifts from my palm. I lay back, propping my head on the pillows fluffed behind my head. I flick my wand at the cube and it slowly revolves above me. I watch it slowly turn as I contemplate the letters.

I think back to the Headmaster's puzzling words.

_The words of this vow are known throughout the wizarding world, but few of us ever fully comprehend their meaning. Draco, you may be the rarity among us who is intelligent and cunning enough to discover the secret of these words. Such a vow can sometimes be used to answer one of life's greatest puzzles._

Vows.

_Do you know, Draco, that some Muggle vows, when spoken from the depths of the heart, are stronger than any one of the most powerful magical vows that bind us witches and wizards to one another?_

Muggle vows.

But what sort of vows would Muggles and Wizards share?

I shut my eyes and pure exhaustion envelops me. Tired. So incredibly tired. My thoughts turn to my parents. Father. Mother. Between them there had been vows. Of love? I let out a scornful scoff. Fidelity, maybe? Care, perhaps? But neither word started with a P-R. What had Father wanted me to swear to? What had he been trying to do this whole time? What about a promise? That's a P-R word.

I grab hold of the cube again and search for the side that has a P in the first row. Fortunately, of the six sides, only one side does. I press onto the P and the R and am gratified to see the lights again. I hesitate momentarily before touching the O and let out a satisfied cry when it too lights up and is connected to the first two letters.

Without stopping, I press my finger to the M in the fourth row. All the lights go out. In frustration, I slap the cube upwards and away. Still partially levitating, it spins up to hit the bottom of my canopy. It bounces twice. In my agitation, I forget to recast the levitation charm and watch the cube succumb to gravity, hurtling back toward my head. I throw my forearm over my face to protect my eyes. As the box bounces harmlessly off my arm to lay on my chest, I smile. I know the next word to try. I pick up the cube and deliberately press the letters: P - R - O - T - E - C - T.

With each letter pressed, the thin silver white light runs along the letter tiles, connecting them together. I want to force a fingernail in between the slits to hasten its opening. Finally, I touch the second T and hear an audible click. A string of sweet notes reaches my ears. The lovely sound dissipates just as quickly as it stirred the air.

Veela.

The enchanting melody reminds me of the singing voices of Veelas. I watch the glowing letters and their tiles disappear. Beneath them is only light. It is the same bright white I'd earlier seen glowing around me in Hermione's mind. I poke a finger at it to find it solid, smooth. I wonder at its beauty. I must have taken too long staring because the squares of light disappear under the lettered tiles that magically return.

I carefully place my thumb on the center letter tile: W. I turn the cube in my hand to look at the other center letters. My thumb covers the only W. Satisfied that I will be able to identify the proper surface again, I place the cube back beneath my pile of pillows, next to the glowing orb.

_Muggle vows. What do I know of Muggle vows? What do I know of Muggle anyth–_

_Oh, bloody hell! _

The muscles in my jaw work as I discover yet another reason to enlist the aid of a certain Muggleborn witch. It seems too soon to see her again but unavoidable all the same. In as much as I want to keep her an arm's length away, I know I must go on as Weasley and I planned. I embroiled her in this mess that is my life. She pledged to assist me and in my ill-conceived desire to seek honor above duty, I must now ensure she stays safe through this. Whatever danger she faces, I now have some ridiculous desire to be at her side to protect her, no matter what.

The day after tomorrow, then. Just one day without her and I will have my head clear enough to meet her for another lesson.

To protect her.

Hermione.

_Bloody, bloody hell!_

* * *

**POV: Ron**  
**A few days later...**

* * *

I am alone in my room when the glow of the setting sun is partially blocked by an incredibly beautiful owl. Its black bill taps impatiently at my window. I take one look at its fiery eyes and know immediately by its proud carriage that this is Malfoy's eagle owl. I open the window and it hops onto my bed frame, leg extended, regally awaiting the removal of the letter.

Carefully, I extricate the note. I take wary notice of the sharpness of its beak and talons, grabbing up a treat I usually have on hand for occasions I might have to thank a feathered mail carrier. I offer the meager morsel to the winged creature. It peers disdainfully at it before resignedly taking it and flying off.

The letter is clenched tightly in my grip, a clear indication of my annoyance at Malfoy's gall to send me a note at my home, knowing my siblings would skin me alive if they ever knew I was in cahoots with him. I am just starting to open it when Harry walks into the room to settle on the cot near my bed.

He curiously eyes my mail as I start to unroll it. I sigh in relief when I recognize the writing.

_Dear Ron,_

_I hope everyone and everything is well at the Burrow. I miss you and your family.  
I hope you've been having a nice holiday.  
I'm sorry I couldn't talk Lavender out of getting you that hideous necklace.  
Tell Harry I wish him a happy Christmas, too._

_Love, _

_Hermione Granger_

Her inclusion of her last name has been a longtime clue to me that there is more to her letter than what might first meet the eye. I allow Harry to read her short note, watching as he smirks a little at the necklace comment. When he's done, he harrumphs and tosses the parchment back at me. His door-slamming departure with accompanying muttered curse tells me he's not at all happy that Hermione wrote to me and not to him. After Harry leaves, I grab up my wand and tap the parchment with a variation of the_ Revelo!_ charm that Hermione taught me. I know her true letter is magically encoded beneath the cover of the simple quilled note and that she hadn't wanted Harry to know about it since she mentioned him up front.

On my fourth tap, Hermione's lengthy, and suspiciously cheery, missive comes into view.

_Dear Ron,_

_I really do miss you._

_I'm actually not the least bit sorry I couldn't talk Lavender out of getting you that hideous necklace. _

_That's what you get for choosing such a silly bint to be your first girlfriend. _

_Ha. Ha._

_Anyway, down to business. _

_After a strange conversation that ended in a wager and after experiencing a few "lessons" with Malfoy, I think I know exactly what you two discussed before you left for the Burrow. _

_I want to be quite clear, Ronald, neither of you are going to convince me that I am being foolish about fulfilling this prophecy. Malfoy might not know the truth of it, but you do. You know I am the girl in the foretelling and that I __have to__ face Riddle. I am convinced that he will not hurt me. He'll want me alive and well to serve as an effective weapon against Harry. Why would he Crucio me? He may Imperius me, but Malfoy will teach me how to deal with that. In any case, whatever he'll teach me will only serve as an added layer of protection in case something goes awry. _

_At least, that's what I'll ask him to do after these Occlumency lessons. _

_Malfoy's convinced, and I am too, that the first thing Voldemort will do is look into my mind to check the truth of the prophecy and if I'm lying about being the true female Slytherin heir. No problem there, obviously, since that is truth. All I really have to do is learn how to hide how I truly feel about you and Harry and my abhorrence of everything Voldemort stands for. _

_Admittedly, it has been burdensome trying to keep Malfoy away from the truth, but I've managed to and that is saying something. Still, he remains incredibly irksome, belittling my ability at Occlumency. If he only knew how successful I've been against his magic!_

_In the last few days, I've learned how to pull up my most recent fury at Harry and stick it in the forefront of my mind so that Malfoy can see exactly what I want him to see. _

_After Voldemort pulls this memory of Harry from me, he likely won't look past them. _

_Malfoy hasn't. _

_In fact, I've been trying this out a bit, giving him glimpses of things that I know will rile him. I'm not sure if he knows I'm doing this purposely. He simply gets so upset with me, or Harry, which then results in him giving me the silent treatment for a few days after we conclude our lesson. I'm trying not to nag him about these taciturn bouts and allow him his space, but I am impatient to learn more about other defenses. _

_There's also one other thing, Ron. Before Harry hurt him, Malfoy mentioned something in passing about how it seems impossible that Voldemort could be killed using just the Killing Curse. I know you and Harry were discussing something similar before I came into the common room the day you left– something about horcruxes and soul splitting? _

_You and Harry are rubbish at secret keeping, and if you two are trying to keep something from me, I can always ask Draco what he might know about horcruxes. He seems to know a lot about dark magic and I bet his parents' library will have lots of information about it. All I have to do is ask him for access to the books, though in his current state I just might have to sell him my soul in order for him to grant the favor. I'm being completely serious about this last part. You really don't want me walking around like some sort of inferi because you're too stubborn to tell me what Harry's been telling you to keep from me._

_When I'm not trying to track Malfoy down for more lessons, you should know that I'm spending my time in the library trying to figure out what horcruxes are. _

_Truly, though, Ron, you must have some information that I can twist up and take to Voldemort when I go to him. For example, maybe it can help me think of a way I can stay close to Harry while pretending to work for the Dark Lord himself. If so, then I can fashion a plan I can live with before Riddle has a chance to make one up for me!_

_Say hello to your family and thank your mother for the new jumper she knit for me... it's quite... fetching, a bit like your new necklace._

_Please, write back soon. _

_Hermione_

_P.S. I've commandeered Malfoy's private owl. Isn't he grand? _

I smile slightly at her comments about my mum's knitting as I light a candle and hold the letter to the flame. I watch the paper turn to ash and fall against the grainy wood of my hand-me down desk. Obviously, the Ferret underestimated Hermione. I knew he had. She seems more thrilled, _if that is at all possible_, at the prospect of going against Voldemort now.

Impatience to return to Hogwarts boils my blood and I find myself surprisingly furious that there is nothing I can do to halt this inevitable disaster without being there to ensure Malfoy pulls through on his part of the plan. My fist crashes against the desktop, sending the ash flying.

_Bloody hell, Malfoy! For Merlin's sake, get on with it!_

* * *

_******~ Author's Note ~** _

_**Many thanks again to StarDuchess for again making this installment shiny and bright. Thank you all, too, for your patience as I wrestle with the plot.**_

_ Your reviews are most welcome and highly encouraged. I do read them often to help keep the muse alive. Won't you please feed my muse today?_

_Let me know, too, if you want me to write back. I'd love to answer questions and/or discuss the plot with you. Your thoughts on Malfoy's character development in Dilemma are most appreciated. Is this progression between HG and DM believable? _

_Thanks!_


	24. Obliviate Me

_**In Dumbledore's Office...**_

_

* * *

_

"I assure you, Mr. Muestilde, your granddaughter is quite safe."

The small portrait perched on the Headmaster's desk, left behind as a communication device at their last face-to-face meeting, features Hermione's grandfather, Leopolde, who is pacing in and out of the frame.

"You say that she's aware of the prophecy?" the man queries from under his shock of wild bushy white hair.

"Indeed, she is, Leo. In fact, she's learned of it from the boy who was destined to show it to her," Dumbledore affirms.

"Who is this boy, Albus?"

The headmaster does not immediately answer.

"She's known him the entire time she's been at Hogwarts. _All_ of the friends she's won are magically compatible to her, Leo, as well as wholly capable of assisting her through whatever dangers she might face if she decides to take on the role that has been fated for her."

"And what of her safety outside of the boundaries of your school? Do you have a way to ensure she will be taken care of should she leave Hogwarts... unexpectedly?" the bushy haired man inquires doubtfully.

"A magical tracking device has been given to her by this same young man in the form of a keepsake. It is unlikely that she will remove it. I believe the gift has become quite special to her."

"Is it something like a Muggle GPS?" the wiry man asks, peering inquiringly at the aging headmaster who stares back blankly.

"Mr. Muestilde," Severus Snape's slow drawl interrupts the staring match. "If it is of any comfort, a number of Order members will be made aware of her mission. We all will be working to ensure your granddaughter remains unscathed.

The man in the painting turns toward the silky voice and purses his lips, unsure of what to make of the Slytherin professor he'd been introduced to at his last meeting with the Headmaster, just before Yule.

"Are you quite sure, Albus, that there is no other way around this? Perhaps I should meet her, let her know that she is not alone in this world, that she has a family that wants her, that she can forego involving herself with this prophecy.... She should meet her birth parents."

Dumbledore turns to peer into the portrait as Snape moves closer to examine the man, too.

"Perhaps it is time that Hermione knows who _you_ are before her role in all of this becomes infinitely more complicated. I am not quite sure she is strong enough yet to meet her birth parents, but she may find she'll need _your_ support. But brace yourself, Leo, she is a Gryffindor, headstrong and loyal to a fault. She will not likely welcome being asked to abandon the positive part she could play in Voldemort's demise, especially from someone she considers a stranger."

The three men nod gravely at one another.

"Contact me when you have secured the time and place for our meeting."

"Expect my owl soon, Leo."

The painted image of the man nods, then leaves the portrait. Dumbledore places the frame back into its box and secures it within a locked portion of his desk. Turning to Snape, he says, "Severus, I think it is time to have a conversation with young Mssrs. Weasley and Malfoy."

_

* * *

**Meanwhile... In the Room of Requirement**  
**POV: Ron**

* * *

_

"For Merlin's sake, Granger!" Malfoy's lips curl in an impatient, irritated snarl. He is horrifically angry. "I will _not_ Obliviate you no matter how many times you suggest it! Shield your thoughts! Block me out! You _can_ learn Occlumency. YOU JUST AREN'T TRYING!" I try not to jump in and hex the blonde prat when it seems he'll lunge at her. As for Hermione, she seems fine, holding her own against his monumental fit.

Even for an insensitive lout like me, it is crystal clear that _something_ happened between Hermione and Malfoy during the holidays. For weeks now, in an effort to dodge the real reason for their renewed animosity, they've been unnaturally prickly around one another. Considering their history, the level of tension is suffocating for me to witness. They bicker and torment each other at every go.

To make things worse, Harry is trying to win Hermione back over to at least being friends again. It's impossible not to notice Malfoy turning a violent shade of puce over on the Slytherin side every time he sees Harry within arm's distance of her. This happens not only during meals three times a day, it occurs in the halls as we pass for classes, and on the grounds... _just... everywhere_. It's painful to watch. Pathetic, really.

As it is, their secret training sessions skirt on the edge of real danger since he's teaching her both dark curses and counter curses. After such "Harry and Hermione" sightings Malfoy seems as violent-prone as Riddle himself when they meet in the training room behind the ballet-dancing troll tapestry. Worse, the barmy witch welcomes his rage, egging him on to do his worst!

This attempt to educate Hermione is what my dad would call a Muggle landmine, full of all sorts of hidden explosives that could go off on any poor bloke who takes a wrong step. In my dual desire to watch Malfoy crash and burn, but also cheer him on in the face of danger, I've appointed myself watch guard to make sure they don't accidentally _Avada_ each other between throwing around _Crucios_.

Clearly, Hermione is more skilled at the Dark Arts than Malfoy wishes to believe. Take Occlumency, for example. He still doesn't know she's Slytherin's heir, even after nearly a month and a half of training. From what Hermione's told me, she's figured out how to practice this magic in a way that would have most wizards pulling at their beards, groaning, and wondering aloud how in Merlin's name she's done it.

Over the break, Hermione discovered that if she focuses all her magical efforts on shielding her one secret from Malfoy, she can keep him from reading that particular part of her brain. She describes it as shoving specific ideas and emotions into an imaginary safe that rivals the strongest vault in Gringott's. Impressive, really, that she is aware of how her vast mind works. Unfortunately, this means she has to allow Malfoy complete freedom to see everything else in her head during their Legilimency sessions. Based on his rantings, it seems he's absolutely disgusted at how easily she allows him to gather these unsecured thoughts.

After watching him train her for weeks and one sorry night over some contraband Firewhisky--a might fine bit of Ogden's that--listening to Malfoy's rat-arsed grouching, I take it his fury isn't really about Hermione's failure to keep him out of her head. He all but admitted that he senses she's hiding something. Knowing him, he can't stand that he can't beat her at his own game. Under my watch, he's been acting a lot like an insulted hippogriff due to her unnatural talent of side-stepping his curses. Now, the Ferret's insulted me one too many times for me not to enjoy watching Hermione lord one over him. As amusing as this is though, I do have to remind myself that her advanced use of clever mind tricks is doing nothing to help us keep her from eagerly approaching Voldemort.

As for Hermione, she's gotten far too smug. I know her and it's mere spite that has her toying with Malfoy now. She's hacked off and knows that she will get a reaction from the Ferret by pretending to be miffed at his name-calling by loudly grousing about Obliviation being the ultimate answer to his disappointment in her. Likely not the sort of attention she wants from him, but at least it's _something _other than the cold disregard he shows her outside of the Room of Requirement's rendition of a magical training room.

I tune in to her shrill retort. It's hard not to.

"I mean it! Just Obliviate me, Malfoy, then I can forget I ever cared about your well-being– you... you wretched cockroach! Obliviate me so I can go to Voldemort with a clear head. It would be easier _that_ way," she shrieks. "You're complete rubbish at pretending to be a Death Eater! Of course I'm not learning properly! It's _your_ fault I'm not able to come up with the proper counter curses! Your pathetic attempts to curse me are too weak to be considered remotely dark!"

_This is not Hermione._

_This_ is a girl not getting enough attention from the bloke she wants to notice her. I know _this_ because the way Hermione is acting towards Malfoy is _exactly_ the sort of mental behavior Lavender has been putting _me _through lately since I've been trying to avoid her.

_Flippin_'_ girls and the mad things they do to boys! _

When I ask Hermione if she's trying to purposely wind up the Ferret, she innocently insists she's trying to goad Malfoy into being the first to suggest using Occlumency as a way to feed Riddle the "false" information of her being the Slytherin heir. Her secret, which she still insists on hiding from him no matter what I have to say to convince her otherwise, is what drives her need to make Malfoy think it's _his_ idea to practice what she'll be doing with Voldemort when _He_ looks into her head.

_Blimey, it's scary, if not more than a bit confusing, how her mind works._

Seems Malfoy hasn't yet figured what she's about or he's ignoring it. Either way, his stubborn hide refuses to see that his less-than-brilliant plan to convince Hermione of her incompetence is nothing but a spectacular failure.

If you ask me, Hermione's far _too_ accomplished at reading her opponent and adjusting her practice of Occlumency to effectively fight back. She's discovered that while most wizards believe her emotions are a great weakness in the practice of this magical defense, she seems well able to harness her weakness and make it a great strength. She's done this by correctly recognizing that experiencing too much of her feelings through Legilimency seems to be Malfoy's... what does Harry always say about his favorite Muggle superhero's greatest weakness? Something about "crypto-night"?

The Ferret's shouting interrupts my thoughts.

"Are you or are you not the brightest witch of your age?! If you want to convince Weasley and me that you are able to face the Dark Lord, try working harder on developing your magic than coming up with your feeble excuses, Granger!

"You have to be able to separate yourself from your _feelings_ when I bring you to him. Walking up to Riddle and _allowing_ him to peer into your unfettered mind is life-threatening! _You_ are insane if you think Voldemort won't discover your half-baked, certain-to-fail plan to usurp Him. It's too easy to penetrate that overly large brain of yours. Do you have a death wish? He'll eat you alive, and when he does that, you put _all of us_ in danger. In case I haven't reminded you today, I no longer wish to die!"

Though Malfoy and I both know our wager's long lost, let it be said that he plays a convincing role of being thoroughly enraged with her. On and on he pushes her with insult after scathing insult at some trumped up inability of hers to counter his curses. The Ferret finishes on an impressive roar, saying something truly offensive, words so loaded they have my own ears ringing and her, at last, screaming at him to back off.

"You're not even close to being the _scary_ Death Eater you're supposed to convince Voldemort you are, you insufferable arse! You can't even _Crucio_ a Pygmy Puff!" she screeches. "Get out of my head! Now!"

_Bugger._ _I know that octave level. _

"You think you can whine _that_ last bit at the_ Dark Lord,_ Hermione?!" Malfoy bellows, stomping towards her. "We can't pull this off. Y_ou_ cannot do _this_! Admit it!"

Her fury lights the air as magic sparks off her. This will not end well and the Ferret hasn't had enough history with her to realize it.

"Oi! Ease off, Malfoy. She's knackered," I say interrupting them. I push myself up from sitting and hold his wand out to him. I am impressed, but not surprised, that he practices Legilimency without it. The blonde stares at my outstretched hand. Seems he's forgotten I've been in the room with them the entire time. I still wonder just how far he's penetrated into her great brain during these weeks of _training_.

"OK, Hermione, break time," I announce, putting my body between them. "As for _you_," I say turning my attention to Malfoy, my palm still out, offering him his wand, "let's try summoning your Patronus, _again_."

From the start, it amused me to no end that after all these weeks of trying to do what so many in the Gryffindor house managed in less than a few days, Malfoy hasn't seen any more than a slip of silver float out of his wand. After I'd gotten over that little laugh, I began to think of the reasons for his epic failure at casting the _Expecto Patronum _incantation.

It at last occurred to me that this loaded, pure-blooded git, who could have anything his heart desires, does not have even one powerfully happy memory to bring a Patronus to light. This reality makes me feel incredibly sorry for him, a feeling that doesn't sit well with me.

"What thoughts have you been using to conjure your Patronus, Malfoy?"

"None of your damn business, Weasley!"

"Do you want to learn how to cast a Patronus or not?" I ask, exasperated.

"Why can't Hermione teach me?" he whines gratingly, sending her a pleading look. I shoot her a warning glance not to give in to his childishness.

"Hermione can't help you because you've tired her out from all your yelling and belittling her over the Occlumency training," I reply in a scolding tone my mum often uses. I set to twirling his wand in my fingers. "So, _now_ it's my turn to do the same to you... you whiny baby."

"Fine, Weasel. Let us get this over with," he gnashes, snatching his wand out of my grasp.

"Alright then, let's start again," I say commandingly, standing beside his slighter frame. "What have you been thinking of to try to conjure a Patronus?"

He sighs, rubbing at his temples. I wait forever and a day for his answer. During the silence, he keeps casting quick darting glances at Hermione. Now I know at least one person he thinks about. Maybe thoughts of her are the cause of those little wisps of silver that float from his wand. I wonder if he'd admit to the truth of my guess under these circumstances. I doubt it. The sight of his tightened lips and tense shoulders continue to irritate me as I continue to wait. Just as I'm about to tell them both that we should call it a day, I hear him mumble.

"Flying."

"Beg pardon?"

Ever the drama queen, Malfoy sighs loudly, rolls his eyes, and then grumbles,"My happiest memory is of my father teaching me to fly when I was about four or five. It was the only time I had ever seen him… " his voice falters, turning wistful. "I had never seen the both of them, Mother and him, so happy together as when I was up in the air. Father was laughing when we were up so high… I could hear Mother, too..."

I hold up my hand to keep him from going on. I know talking about it must be downright unnatural for him and I simply am not ready to feel that much compassion for the cockroach. I turn to pace the room, listening to the others breathing quietly as they watch me move back and forth.

My thoughts turn to my own memory of first learning how to fly on a broom with my dad, how my mum watched on terrified I would fall, laughing when we flipped in the air and safely made it back to the ground to the grand applause of my older brothers.

_How ironic. _

I feel my lips quirk at the thought. _Flying for the first time._ It's the very same memory I use to conjure my own Patronus.

_So, why doesn't it work for Malfoy?_

I think of how I feel about my own father. Proud, actually, and I know I love him no matter what.

But, what must Malfoy feel for _his_ father?

Love?  
Loyalty?  
Disappointment?

I turn to look at him.

"You love your dad?"

I watch him squirm. _OK..._ I move on quickly.

"You still believe in your dad's views about blood purity?"

He looks quickly at Hermione and then back to me. "No! Of course not!" the sound of his angry denial tears through the empty chamber.

"If your dad asked you to do the Dark Lord's bidding for _his_ sake, would you?"

More silence, then...

"There _is_ such a thing as _duty_, Weasel," he answers bitterly, "but, no, I would hope not... no matter what the price."

Hermione and I look at one another, absorbing his reply.

"You angry, disappointed in your dad at all?"

"How could I not be, Ron?! Look at the position in which my father's placed me! And worse, I hate to think what his deplorable decisions are doing to my mother!"

I shoot a glance at Hermione who voiced the tiny gasp I made inwardly at Malfoy's use of my first name. He surprisingly sounds a lot like Harry when he is especially irritated with me.

"Well then, Draco," I reply, purposely using his name without sarcasm, "that memory you're using is _not_ going to work. Think of something else."

_Silence_.

He covers his eyes with his palm. His blonde fringe hangs over his hand as his fingers massage his temples and forehead as though he'll be able to come up with something _that_ way.

I can hear the thundering of my own heartbeat in my ears as my temper rises.

"Malfoy, you're not trying!" I lash out at him in the same way he did Hermione earlier. I frown at Hermione who is silently mouthing _"Stop!"_ at me.

I shake my head at her as I examine Malfoy's posture. His head is hanging. His hands are now at his sides. He looks wretched… miserable. I can't help but open my heart to him, and when I do, my anger drains.

"Look–" I sigh suddenly at a loss. I turn to stare at Hermione. As soon as I catch sight of her curly brown, crazy long hair, the idea suddenly bursts, like a sunbeam through storm clouds, in my head.

I quickly shift my attention back to Malfoy.

"Have you kissed _her_ yet?"

"What?!" His head whips up in alarm and his silver eyes flash on mine before they slide shyly over to her.

Her twin response has me smirking.

"Well, I guess that would be a _no_," I say with a short laugh. "Well, get on with it then. We _are_ trying to defeat Voldemort, after all. Hermione, mate, you're going to have to take this one for the team," I joke, knowing full well she must have been waiting for the Ferret to make the first move since her little _convincing_ hospital scene.

_Hermione, here's an early birthday present for you!_ I think mirthfully to myself as I make my way to the door.

Before I firmly shut it behind me I call, "I'll give you five minutes of privacy. Don't try anything _too_ fancy that will make me want to Obliviate myself when I come back. And when I am back, Malfoy, we'll try it again."

* * *

_**Author's note:** Shorter this time because I needed to split a chapter. The one I'd written was ridiculously long - longest one yet. I thank StarDuchess for her speedy beta work and you should, too, by going to R&R her dramione (anti-)Valentine's Day drabbles: **7 Kisses in 7 Years** while we wait for her to edit my next installment :) She writes Draco at his very worst and it's a gas, if you can stand him that way. Then, if you want lighter, fluffier fare, you can pass the time reading mine: **The Art of Kissing. **Yes, this is flagrant pimping. I hope it works! Ha!_

_Next one for Dilemma will be up as soon as StarDuchess is done... and then... alas... my muse is flickering out. I am currently brainstorming. If you want to throw in your two cents, please send your ideas and thoughts my way as to where you're imagining this will go or where you definitely DON'T want it to go. With the strength of your feedback, I may be able to cast an Accio! on my wandering muse._

_ I'd rather not leave you hanging for weeks as I go through the process of story development again. That took forever last time. I promise to give credit where credit is due if I pick up your slightly ruffled plot bunny. :) Cheers! _

_~foggy_


	25. Five Minutes and Counting

_**POV: Draco**_

* * *

I stare incredulously at the red-haired git as he shuts the door with a resounding thud. The sound of his gleeful chuckle echoes in my head as I internally curse myself for having gotten completely tanked with the Weasel over a forbidden bottle of Ogden's Old nearly three weeks ago.

I knew it had been a bad idea to confide in him about my confusion surrounding Hermione. And, _this_, his calculated abandonment of me with _her_, only confirms that it had been incredibly dim-witted of me to have trusted him.

While the idea of kissing Granger is something I have entertained far too many times to count, it is not something I feel quite ready to indulge in yet. Though it has been nearly a month, I still have not fully forgiven her for secretly involving Snape in our training sessions. I grant that she had been beside herself in fury after I adamantly refused to Crucio her, but it did not excuse her supreme idiocy in taking it upon herself to bring another person into her confidence about going off to face Voldemort.

I had been mentally preparing myself for another gruesome lesson with Granger on the day I walked into the Room of Requirement to find my godfather pointing his wand at Hermione. Helplessly I watched him hurl a snarled "Crucio!" at her. Her body pulled taut and toppled over to lie useless on the cold tiles. Her eyes, big and round, seemed to plead with me to intervene. Her mouth was open in a silent scream.

I dashed toward her, but mid-stride my legs suddenly refused to move. Snape had sent a wandless hex to halt my advance. He then hissed an icy warning that sent a chill down my spine.

"Show nothing of yourself," his cold sneer was too similar to my father's. I shuddered, recalling similar words spoken to me long ago. Snape's inky black stare bored into mine as my heart wrenched for Hermione, now curled into herself, the tendons in her neck strained, her fingers stretched, then fisted, reminding me of the tortured spider that surely must have died a thousand deaths under the Cruciatus during Professor Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"No Mercy, Draco," Snape hissed, continuing to usher a litany of teaching commands at me while sending more torturous wandlight into Hermione. "Stand and watch her suffer as if you are doing nothing more distasteful than drinking unacceptably bland tea. Show only haughty disdain. You must be impervious to the sight of such things if we are to be successful in convincing the Dark Lord of your undying servitude."

Hermione's voice miraculously found its way back into her throat and a soul-shattering scream filled the room, piercing into me. I could almost thank my father for the long-ago Avada Kedavra that spared the only other living thing I had ever freely loved from this sort of torturous hell Granger seemed to be enduring.

Beside me, Snape tut-tutted, taunted and tested her, while I worked to suppress the desire to pull my own wand against him, "By all means, Miss Granger, make it ever easier for those sadistic psychopaths to take pleasure in your pain. YOU WILL NOT SHOW ANY WEAKNESS! THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED FROM ME, ISN'T IT?!"

Ever the proficient student, Hermione managed to clamp her lips shut, though the alarming shudders passing through her small frame made me want to launch my own Unforgiveable at Snape to make him stop it.

"Is the potion working, Granger?" Snape continued, almost seductively. "Think of it! Feel the draught running through your veins touching each of your nerve endings. It's nearly as simple as mind over matter. Your inherent smarts should inform you of this. With some of my newly brewed elixir, you should surely be spared some of the pain. Just think of witches thrown into fire. Only a tickling sensation! Remember!"

I threw a quizzical glance Snape's way. He answered with a knitting of his bushy black brows and an almighty scowl. Another one of her ear-splitting screams nearly stopped my heart. Whatever the Potions Master had given her seemed to have reached its limit of pain relief. Her renewed cries punctured through my best efforts at blocking the unwanted and overwhelming rage at my impotence to save her.

As the muscles in my legs and back gathered to try to wrench myself toward her again, a shock of blinding light suddenly shot from her now outstretched fingers. Snape and I were both dumbstruck as Hermione let out a keening cry before appearing to gather some unseen internal power to push the strength of Snape's Crucio back out toward him. Snape's magic momentarily wavered as the force of her magic caused him to stagger back.

"ENOUGH!" I roared, finding myself again able to move with Snape's falter. I launched myself between him and her, taking on a wayward shot of the curse from Snape's wand. The sheer power of it knocked me to my knees beside her.

_Bugger it all to bloody hell! How had she been able to withstand more than a moment of this excruciating, mind-numbing pain?_

"Draco!" they both cried. Wands clattered to the floor and heavy footsteps rushed toward me.

Gasping while gingerly peeling myself from the floor, I ignored and slapped away their offers of help. Once my feet were under me, I spared a hateful glare at each of them and did my very best to storm out of the room.

That was the night, in the company of Weasley, I had unsuccessfully attempted to use the heat of firewhisky to burn from my mind the horrifying images of Snape torturing her under the Cruciatus. I'd snuck out to fetch the bottle, wallowing in feelings of betrayal at her inclusion of my godfather in her quest. After a few hours, as all-too familiar anger enveloped me, I'd made to find Weasley. This oddly comforting fury has been my indulgence, my mask of choice, when faced with the reality of my growing concern for Granger.

Now, mindful of her presence in the room, I try to recall what I might have said to the redhead to have him torturing me in such a merciless manner. Thinking of such only brings back the squirming, retching sensation that accompanies the knowledge that I might have perhaps shed a few tears in the git's presence over having been made to witness Snape cursing Hermione. So, now two people know of my weakness for the girl sitting silently in the room with me. And, now... now Weasely's simply gone too far.

I gulp and swing my gaze to meet her wide-eyed, open-mouthed stare. She seems just as shocked as I am to be here... _alone_... with no other purpose than to contemplate and participate in an actual kiss.

"We do not have to do what he says," I say assuredly, stealing a glance at her from beneath lowered lids. "It is just Weasley."

She smiles faintly, lets out a breath, and nods. Then, to my great curiosity, she catches up her bottom lip between her teeth before looking away.

"It isn't as though one kiss from me will rock your world enough to conjure something as important as your Patronus," she replies snidely, a tone completely opposite of what the lip bite might have meant. She shrugs nonchalantly, looks at me quickly to gauge my response, then hastily shifts her gaze to focus on... _well..._ _nothing_.

"Do you _want_ to kiss me, Granger?" I ask with a some incredulity.

"What?! No!" she squeaks. There is an awkward pause filled with what I imagine is_ disappointment._ At last she sighs and adds, "especially if _you_ don't want to kiss _me_, Malfoy."

I have not exactly been kind to her these past weeks, and considering my downright deplorable behavior, I am frankly surprised she wants me anywhere in her immediate vicinity. Yet, my watchful observations of her this term has me somehow able to see beyond her efforts to appear unmoved by the task Weasley sets before us. It shames me to discover her wearing the same look I witnessed in her memories, the woebegone expression she wore while alone in her room wondering why I hated her enough to wish her dead.

I want to reach out to her now because _this time_, I can. Because_ this time,_ I can hold her so she knows she is not alone. In doing so, I might even be able to make her understand that I do not hate her but, in fact, feel quite the opposite. My limbs, however, have gone immobile. So, instead, I use words to tentatively reach out to her.

"Who says _I_ do not want to kiss _you_, Granger?"

With some satisfaction I watch her head snap up, her astonished gaze meeting mine. Impulsively, I reach out a hand toward her. Still sitting, she shakes her head at me, refusing to stand and come closer. Her sudden shyness has me rediscovering the ability to move and I propel myself forward. She stares at me and seems to grow wary as I approach. She turns her head aside when I am within touching distance. She presents me with her lovely profile, chin up-tilted in her usual defiant expression. There are, however, tell-tale signs that she is jittery. Her nostrils flare and just beneath her jaw, the beating of the pulse point there visibly quickens. I stop when the tips of my leather shoes touch the side of the bench on which she has curled. Without thinking, I reach out again, this time placing a finger under her chin, lightly tipping her head so I can see her face. Her breath hitches and her eyes darken.

It is wrong of me to touch her. Very wrong, because something very odd happens to time. It slows as I move my fingers to tangle in her hair. My hand lingers there, seduced, even shocked, by the unexpected silky softness of it.

She laughs unexpectedly. It is a full, rich ripple of sound with a slightly nervous note that tips it away from being truly merry.

Then, time halts altogether. Absurdly spellbound, we stare at one another as her laughter fades. All else melts away, everything, that is, except the vision of her and her suddenly sober sable eyes. There is an undeniable intensity in this space, charged with the oppressive strain of having denied for weeks, months really, all that could be between us. It is as if the past and future collide, their resonances cancelling each other out until all that is left is this one unwavering bit of time.

The moment is simply... magical.

And unbearably tense.

"I will ask again, Granger. Do you _want_ to kiss me?"

My question hangs in the air.

Our gaze holds. Neither one of us speaks. I lift my hand to graze my knuckles lightly against her cheek. She swallows, summoning up some of that legendary Gryffindor courage, I suppose. In this suspended space, she can say or do any number of things to cause time to tick back into motion.

I wait.

"I might, Malfoy," she replies so softly I have to dip my head closer so I can hear, "want to kiss you, that is."

And, with that, the movement of the clock's hands begins anew. I smile, enamored by her brave admission, forgetting all the reasons to keep away. I move to sit beside her. She shifts to make room.

"This is not the most romantic venue and the situation is hardly ideal," I say this evenly, watching her curiously, astounded that she hasn't yet stormed out of the room. "I am not much for romance. Though, I imagine perhaps you are. Know this about me, Granger, I am hardly what you Muggles call a Casanova." The tiniest of smiles touches her lips as I speak.

"But if you do... _want to kiss me_, that is," I continue, my nerves making my voice gruff, "you are wasting precious time. Four minutes and counting, Granger." I lift my wrist to her eye-level, deliberately tapping the expensive platinum watch on my wrist. Her eyes drop to alight on the glinting metal, an unexpected distraction and useful excuse for the astonished shortness of breath both she and I share. I drop my arm, look away, and take in a much needed lungful of air. I dare to dart a bewildered glance at her, startled to discover the banked desire in her eyes. I am amazed by her reaction to my words. She tilts toward me, reaching like a flower toward the sun. Slightly alarmed, I lift a my palm to press it gently against her shoulder, stopping her before she can come any closer.

With my other hand, I catch an errant curl that strays from the rest of the mop of waves on her head. I twine it around and around my finger, drinking in the look of expectation on her face. Like a madman, I decide to take this opportunity not to convince her of the rightness of a kiss, but to push at her so she might be the first to turn away.

"I cannot imagine why you want to kiss me. I am a prize-winning prat, remember?" I begin a volley by using her latest barb against me. It is my last attempt to bring her back to her senses.

She blinks.

"I am no good with emotions, Granger. I am a shallow bastard. I rarely, if ever, give recognition to those who value honor above duty. I am not some sort of white knight. And _you_–well, you are an altogether different sort, are you not? You seem to understand and feel deeply about things like courage and loyalty. You, with your vast talent and heart. If you were Slytherin, you would be extremely dangerous indeed."

I take notice of something that crosses her face. I cannot put a name to it other than characterize it as _unease_. Perhaps she agrees with my assessment of her?

"Thankfully you are lion, Granger," I continue, my sights trained on the parade of emotions marching across her face, "not serpent. And, these very Gryffindor traits are what make you absolute rubbish at what you _think_ you will be able to accomplish through this prophecy." I smirk, then add softly, "You _cannot_ trick Him. No amount of practice or training will suffice. You must admit that Weasley and I have won this wager against you, Bookworm. Besides, _even if_ I have not truly proven your inability at defense, _even if_ you are more than sufficiently able to face Voldemort, there is still absolutely no way I would willingly feed you to Him."

She closes her eyes as I brush a finger against her cheek.

"But if you go despite all my forewarnings, you better leave me now because_ if_ we share _this_ kiss..." I hear my voice grow gravelly and pause so I can work to control it again. "If we share this kiss, _He will know_. He will know how you feel about me and He will use it against you. He will use it against the both of us. You are mad if you think that he won't, Granger."

I find myself gripping her shoulder with the hand I had used to try to push her away. My fingers dig so deeply it seems impossible they will not leave marks on her otherwise flawless skin.

"My name is _Hermione._" Her voice is powerful, confident, and irritating to the extreme. She ignores all I have to say. Her fingers capture my shirtfront threatening to shake me. "Why are you reverting to surnames? After _everything_ that's happened, why are you warning me off as if I don't already know _who_ and exactly _what_ you are? Why do you so fiercely believe that I am going into this blind? I have had much more experience fighting dark curses than you think, Draco. Isn't this shite you're spouting really about _you_ being scared, Malfoy? Not scared of _Him_, Draco, but scared of _me_?"

I watch the unmistakable gleam of a dare in her eyes. Her chin moves upward in that annoyingly stubborn tilt. My gaze drops to look at her hands clutching at me. I decide against giving air to the quick denial that flies to my lips.

"Yes, Hermione," I admit quietly, fighting the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. "I _am_ scared. I have always been terrified of _Him_. But lately, I find myself completely panicked at what there might be between us. I know you feel the immense power of it, too."

The admission somehow fortifies me and I am eager now to welcome her attempts at backing up her bold words. I very nearly expect the movement of her hand against my jaw that gently coaxes my gaze to hers. When our eyes connect, she nods at me. "You and me together, we're like that little girl with the curl. Do you know the nursery rhyme, Draco?"

_Two and a half minutes more and she wants to talk about Muggle verse_? _Leave it to the Bookworm to fill my head with words at a time like this._

"No," my response is curt, impatient, but when I attempt to pull away, her hands draw me nearer. I take hold of the hand placed on my face to tug her close. I rest my cheek against the side of hers, breathing in the sweet apricot scent of her.

"Merlin, you smell good... _for a Gryffidor_."

At my sardonic tone, she chuckles and relaxes against me. For weeks, perhaps even months, I have been fighting the urge to touch her, hold her. Every lesson and training session since seeing that internal force within her come to light brings me perilously closer to something akin to loving her.

It is a feeling I fight every moment when she is near and the battle only intensifies when I am alone. At each lesson I shout at her for some trumped up inadequacy. Every training session has me roaring at her to fight against the dark magic I throw at her: Imperius, Fiendfyre, Legilimency, Petrification, and, yes, she even bullied me into using Dolohov's old curse against her–all but the Avada. She has become surprisingly adept at defending herself from and taming the effects of all these. At every turn I discover she is infuriatingly successful at climbing her way out of the abyss of any sort of dark magic.

Out of sheer terror, for her life and mine, I make sure to regularly bellow at her for some imagined failing. Each shouted insult and curse is my silent plea for her to give up this foolish desire and wait for Potter to complete his task, but it is as though she is somehow biologically immune to the curses. I wonder if this has anything to do with Snape's new anti-pain potion. Whatever the reason, she seems to gain some sort of natural antibody that helps her fight off harmful effects, or perhaps each cast curse implants her with internal counter-curses. Even Snape continues to be thunderstruck at her unsurpassed talents at defense.

As I continue to fret about her safety, I feel one of her hands reach around my neck, pulling me closer, bringing my ear against her mouth.

"There was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead," she says, smiling against the whorls of my ear as she slides herself closer to me. I lean my face into hers as she recites the rhyme. "When she was good, she was very, very good, and when she was bad, she was horrid."

I sit still next to her, taking in the words of the Muggle children's verse and realize with a start that, yes, what she and I have between us is in fact embodied in this little ditty. I shudder, feeling her breath against me. In this moment I realize that what I crave more than me being able to touch her, is the heavenly feeling of _her_ touching _me_. It is this that has me ignoring all good sense and seizing the impossibility of this moment.

My own hand moves to intertwine my fingers into the hair at the base of her neck. I fist the softness of these strands and pull gently so her face tilts up, my lips just inches from hers.

"We have already experienced a great deal of what can be horrid between us, Hermione," I whisper, still quite dazzled to find myself here. "Do you want to see if what we have can be very, very good together?"

She sends me a rather slow and seductive smile.

_Two minutes left... blast that Weasley!_

Her head falls back as I place my lips on her exposed neck. I brush light kisses against her skittering pulse, following it downward. I let out a ragged breath against the place where her neck meets shoulder. As I make my way back to her ear, the light stubble on my jaw scratches her, reddening sensitive skin. My hands mimic the journey of my mouth, gliding down her back and back up to gather the tips of her long curls in my fingers.

"I want to kiss you, Hermione," I whisper huskily, playfully nipping at her ear. Dumbfounded by the sound of my own needy confession, I repeat it again, simply awed by the truth of it, "I truly _do_ want to kiss you." She rewards my honesty with a whimper. I slowly brush my nose and cheek alongside hers, pulling my head back to make eye contact with her.

Molten chocolate. Her gaze is wanting and passionate... a heady surprise. I watch her watching me. The tip of her tongue seductively wets her lips, like a cat relishing the sight of cream. Her teeth again catch up her ripe bottom lip and I move closer, mesmerized. Her breath stops. I softly touch my lips to hers and something–a feeling of absolute _rightness_–shoots through me at the feel of her mouth against mine.

I hear her gasp as the frisson of energy seems to streak through her, too. There is a slightly awkward moment that has our noses bumping, but we adjust swiftly. Her tongue persistently slides against the seam of my lips. I respond in kind and she opens her mouth to me, beckoning me inside. Instead of answering her invitation, I draw back to take in air then shift the angle of my head to capture her upper lip. She whines, making a small dismayed sound at my retreat. It sends my head spinning. My heart swells at the feeling of her pulling me against her.

_Nothing_ has ever felt this good. _Nothing_ has ever stolen my breath away like her.

She _wants_ me.

She perhaps even _loves_ me.

The knowledge is absolutely exhilarating, much bigger, much fuller, much better than the thrill of flying. I take a moment to look into her flushed face. The siren's smile she sends me reaches her eyes. I notice because this look of unmitigated joy has been absent on her face since our first shared laugh in the Room of Hidden Things.

"Draco," she whispers, her fingers tugging at my shirt, her face reaching for mine again, "more, _please_."

With my heart singing at the sound of her desperate plea, my fingers on her nape discover the clasp of the necklace I gave her resting there. My mouth meets hers again as I trace the chain to the bauble resting in the V of her collarbone. I touch the wizard-made, custom-designed flower, comforted to find it still there. She does not know it but this pendant is my magical connection to her, wrought and delivered at the suggestion of both Snape and Dumbledore.

"Promise me you'll never take this off," I implore hotly against her lips, pressing the bijou against her rapidly beating pulse.

"Never," she swears breathily, her lips moving against mine. "I'll never take it off.... Kiss me again, Draco."

I smile at her impatience and revel at the feel of her mouth crashing against mine, forceful and demanding. I hold her back some, wanting to take my time to savor her, alternating between short, light kisses and then delving in deep. She squirms in my arms, wanting it seems, to be closer than physically possible.

Besides Pansy, who was never this responsive, I have little more experience to offer her. I draw away from her slightly, nerves jangling, but trying valiantly not to show it.

"Stop teasing, Malfoy," she moans, pouting. Somehow she has managed to make her way onto my lap. _Minx._ I touch a finger to her lips, cursing the Weasel for the time constraint but thankful for it all the same.

"Weasley's due any second, love."

As if on cue, the redhead re-enters the room and I reluctantly, but swiftly, place Hermione beside me, grabbing hold of her hand to keep her from flying off the seat to flee to the opposite side of the room. She pulls against my hold, but when I squeeze her fingers, which are resting in my hand atop my thigh, she melts against my side. Now I have the camouflage I need.

"OK, then, Malfoy," Weasley announces jovially, pleased to have discovered us mid-liplock, "let's get on with it. Here's your wand."

"A moment if you will, Weasley," I say uncomfortably. I stare at him pointedly, silently trying to make him understand why I can't stand up right at this moment. The unspoken request is not lost on the redhead who smirks knowingly. With a nod, he walks over to Hermione and offers her a hand. All the while, I am counting silently, and when that doesn't work, I run the names of all the players on the Slytherin quidditch team in my head, using anything to distract myself from her and what we'd been doing on the bench. She casts me a worried glance and I send her a wan smile.

"Go back to the tower and rest, Hermione," Weasley suggests pulling her up and away as I look on. "Maybe you can work on the stuff you want to show Voldemort in your head. You know, about you being the female heir to Slytherin and all? Shouldn't you be doing that already?"

I watch something unspoken pass between them.

_Relief? _

_Thanks?_

She casts a stray glance at me, waiting for _my_ response to Weasley's suggestion. I raise an eyebrow, but offer nothing. I had wondered when to suggest the very same, but it was too much like surrender to allow the words to spill from my own mouth. She does have to start developing her cover story since Weasley's and my attempts at thwarting her is not going as expected. Yet, even though I know she should start preparing, I am still mightily annoyed that the Weasel makes even this slight capitulation to her disastrous plan.

"Go rest, Hermione. Do what Ron says," I encourage, suddenly catching on that Weasely wants her to leave. "Let's train again tomorrow. Oh, and I have something else to show you."

Both hers and his eyebrows shoot up. I laugh. The booming sound echoes in the room.

"Nothing like that, you perverts! I am talking about the training. I have a puzzle that I am finding difficult to decipher. I think Hermione might be able to help me."

She sends me a curious look and I stare blankly at her.

"Alright, Draco," she says reluctantly. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Ron." With a small wave to both of us she is gone. I turn to stare into bright blue eyes. The glaring red of his hair is always a shock.

"So, Weasley," I drawl, leaning back, much more comfortable now that she has left the room. "Why did you send her away? Have you another plan, Big Red?"


	26. Blimey, it Has Fangs!

**POV: Draco**

* * *

"_Big Red?_ Hmmmm. That one's not half bad, Ferret," he says, thoughtfully rubbing his chin, "but stop trying to distract me from the Patronus lesson." I take careful note of his far-too-pleased reaction to the new moniker and vow to discover a more annoying nickname than Weasel for him. From my perch on the bench, I surreptitiously watch him go back to the door to drag in a heavy-looking trunk. "You know the drill by now, Malfoy. Start thinking of your happiest memory. Make it a powerful one."

With some irritation, I watch him slide an amused glance at me before he adds, "Hopefully you just made a _really_ happy one."

I pointedly ignore his gibe and move to deftly pluck my wand from the air when he tosses it to me. Pulling myself up from the bench, I eye him as he kneels to place his hand on the chest's lock.

"I ran into your godfather in the hall while you were snogging Hermione," he says, his face upturned to catch my reaction.

I refuse to respond to his casual comment about Snape. Weasley shrugs when a reply from me is not forthcoming. "Snape asked after you. Do you want to know what he wants?"

I stare at Weasley, more unable than unwilling to give him an answer. He looks at me quizzically but continues to prattle on, absently waving his free hand at me. "We'll talk about it later. Anyway, he gave me this, said to use it during _your_ training."

I move closer and kick it with the tip of my shoe.

"Oi! Malfoy, don't do that! You might accidentally open it! We don't want that, not unless we're ready with our wands!" I tilt my head at him, waiting for an explanation. He sighs heavily before giving instructions.

"Snape's put a spell on whatever's inside to make you think a dementor is attacking you," he pats the still-closed lid. Muttering half to himself he adds, "I should have unshrunk it _after_ I got it in here, but I wanted to give you and Hermione a little more time. Besides, I was curious to see how it worked."

"And?" I ask with a purposefully bored drawl. Not wanting to draw Weasley's attention to my retreat, I move slowly, making sure each step I take increases the distance between me and the trunk.

"Damn if it didn't scare the piss out of me," Weasley admits ruefully while examining the chest's medieval locking device. "The bloody thing looked so real, it took me a few minutes to remember the proper incantation. I can see why that sadistic bastard wants us to use it. Makes it more realistic and all that." He stands suddenly and sees me several feet away. He raises an eyebrow, but only continues his teaching commentary, "Well, Ferret, you know what to do when I open it. You have to think of your happy memory and allow it to fill you up."

I nod, beginning to concentrate on the euphoria of my kiss with Hermione. Wand at the ready, but fully aware the room's exit is only a few feet away, I watch Weasley's freckled fingers slide the trunk's lock open and flip the lid.

Though expected, the true-to-life image of the foul, soulless creature whooshes out of the trunk, swooping at me from above. I hear Ron's sharp cry while I stand frozen by the menacing sight of it. Too many of these vile beings camped around the manor this summer. Too bloody many. Subconsciously, I brace for the onset of the cold emptiness that usually accompanies the sight of these things, an emptiness that is soon filled with images of my worst memories.

Dementors. Loathsome things.

_The dark void will not come... The dark void will not come_, I repeat this mantra to myself in an effort to ease my instant anxiety attack. This is NOT real. The sight of this conjured dementor, however, still manages to strike fear in my heart. I am terror-stricken. I see Weasley waving his arms at me, to snap me out of my abject panic. I am annoyed that he seems to have recovered nicely from the shock of what is very similar to Potter's boggart dementor, but the sight of Ron's dancing red hair behind the hovering dark vision grounds me, and all at once I remember exactly what to do.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ I shout, pinpointing my thoughts on the memory of Hermione's face, the pleased sounds she made when I kissed her, and the desirous look in her eyes when I pulled away. I am deeply disappointed and supremely shocked to see that nothing of great importance happens at the business end of my wand. Up until now, I have managed a few wisps of silver white light but not today it seems. The rapidly approaching creature causes bile to rise in my throat. I feel the onset of true horror grip me. Its wraith-like figure ventures ever nearer.

I glance over at Weasley who has now calmly propped himself against the wall, arms folded, waiting expectantly. I try to think of Hermione again, the silent moments in the hospital wing, her gentle touch in the Room of Requirement as I pretended to sleep. Then, as has happened before, my mind settles on the image of her in the library, across the table from me. In my memory, I see her face and the ever present smudge of ink on the tip of her nose. For some reason, _this_ memory has always been able to coax the strongest strands of white light from my wand. When little else happens to accompany this familiar feat, the terror in me rises again and my instinct to take flight threatens to take over. I take a few steps back, my other hand reaching behind me to find a non-existent door handle.

Despite this overwhelming desire to flee, I somehow convince myself to stay put. I know though that my immobilization has little to do with courage since I'm sick with fear and I cannot keep from staring at the dementor's outstretched, decrepit fingers. I scramble to keep one image of Hermione in my mind but I can't seem to gain traction on any of the regular ones that so often fill my head.

It seems Snape's doppleganger of the menacing creature comes equipped with the ability to suck some heat and light out of the room, making it all seem just real enough for me to fight the urge to shout out another curse, _any curse,_ to keep the creature away. Perhaps a Ridikkulus might do the trick?

I have felt this internal terror before. The last time it washed over me was in the bathroom dueling Potter. This recollection allows me _for the first time_ to consider that the memory of Hermione which helped me find calm in the midst of battle might also be the key to conjuring my Patronus. I never before associated the vision of Hermione's delight in the overabundance of flowers cascading from the cabinet as _my_ _own_ powerful happy thought. It is worth a try; after all there is nothing to lose in the attempt. I work to gather _this_ memory of her and carefully hold it in the forefront of my mind. When I accomplish this, something shifts inside of me, and I wave my wand with renewed purpose toward the dark cloaked figure.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

I keep my mind focused on the memory of her laughter, enchanted by the shower of white petals flowing out of the cabinet. I smile as silver light gushes from my wand tip like a geyser.

My incorporeal Patronus shoots out toward Weasley, who is screaming, "Fantastic, Malfoy! That's right! Keep it up! That must have been one helluva brilliant kiss!" His excitement has me remembering Hermione dancing in delight among the profusion of blossoms. _"Look at them, Malfoy!" _she'd exclaimed._ "Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? And the scent…"_ _Lovely, _I had answered._ The loveliest thing I have ever seen. _At this thought, a flurry of white lightning sparks from my wand, wavering, then holding a vague shimmery outline that rushes at the decoy Dementor, pushing it back into its trunk with a solid thunk. I am momentarily stunned. _I had at last accomplished it! _My wand hand lowers shakily to my side and all is quiet again.

"Blimey, it had fangs," Weasley's voice is hushed, his mouth agape, his eyes bulged out of their sockets as he quickly locks the chest again.

"What?" I ask, suddenly exhausted.

"Your Patronus! It has fangs, Malfoy, and an enormous mouth!" he breathes this, completely agog at what he had seen.

As far as I could tell from the opposite end of the wand, I managed to call forth a great deal of silver light and a smoky vision of something very large. The whole of it was much more than I have ever been able to conjure before. It was huge, whatever it was, and it had faced Weasley before disappearing into thin air. So if anyone would know if my Patronus had a mouth with fangs, Weasley would.

Sometime during this back and forth, it occurs to me that I do not know what Weasley's Patronus looks like. I turn to take in his gawping maw. He is still clearly shocked at the sight of whatever it was that came out of my wand.

"It hardly looked like anything," I intone indifferently, hiding my curiosity over what might alight from _his_ wand at the Expecto Patronum incantation.

"A full-bodied Patronus is really hard to conjure," Weasley says in what can only be an unusually kind gesture to placate me. "Shield forms, like the one you conjured there, can be useful against dark opponents– just like this one," he says, motioning toward the trunk.

"I do not think I have the incantation and wand motions mastered yet, Weasley," I say drawing on a glum tone, making a show of shaking my head, pretending to be unhappy with my recent attempt so I can see _his_ Patronus. "Care to show me what _you_ do?"

How the Weasel could get even more colorful than the red on his head is still a complete mystery to me, but he manages to look like a ripe tomato as he mumbles something about me getting it just about right and all I had to do was concentrate on my happy thought some more. I smirk at him. His reluctance to show me his Patronus makes me even more interested to know just what would appear out of his wand.

"Does yours have fangs, too?" I ask with feigned innocence.

He narrows his gaze suspiciously. "Y-yes," he stutters.

I lift an eyebrow.

"It does, Malfoy!"

I hold up my hands in surrender, wondering how much more I can push him.

"_Little_ fangs?" I inquire with a bemused chuckle, "A kitten, maybe?"

"Oi! It's a _dog_!" he announces indignantly.

"A large canine?"

"It's a _hunting_ dog," he replies huffily, effectively avoiding my question.

I nod, duly impressed. "So, let us see it then."

"No."

"Perhaps the puppy is too _little_ to put on a show?"

"Size doesn't matter, Ferret," Weasley argues. "And, it's a full-grown dog!"

"I am sure it is," I reply with amused agreement. "Is it a toy poodle or one of those yappy ankle-biters?"

"No!" he shouts, exasperated. "It's a Jack Russell Terrier, OK? Happy now?"

"Immensely!" I reply with a genuine laugh. "Perhaps this new _happy_ memory of your utter embarrassment will help me conjure a full-bodied Patronus the next time around."

"You're hilarious, Ferret," he grouches. "Bloody hilarious."

Now in even higher spirits, I return to the bench, ready to talk to Weasley about what my godfather might have said to him. Perhaps he might actually have a plan.

* * *

**POV: Ron**

* * *

"So, pray tell, what did my official guardian want, Red?"

I watch the smug prat settle himself on the one and only bench in the room. He's tapping his wand against his thigh. I find this fidgeting from him to be quite odd considering how he's usually controlled and deliberate with all of his movements.

"I rather liked the "Big," Malfoy, why'd you take it out?" I say grumpily, taking a seat on the floor. His annoyingly slimy smirk tells me he's thinking of quite _another_ adjective to compliment the new nickname.

The blond shrugs. "Weasel, the 'Big' causes you to be unbearably pleased with yourself, and clearly your Patronus also agrees that the word is far too generous, so I took it out," he answers matter-of-factly.

I stifle a growl.

"Snape wants you and me to meet him and Dumbledore in the Headmaster's office," I say. "Do you know what they're about?"

He stares at his wand, lost in thought for a while before answering.

"Did my godfather happen to tell you _when_ he expects us?"

"He gave me the password to the Headmaster's office. _Acid Pops._ Seems they want to see us tonight, if we're up to it, Blondie." I respond. _Hey, I can try too!_

He sends me a mocking look.

"Alright, you're right, Blondie's no good," I say on a harrumph. A resigned sigh escapes him, and I know the defeated sound has nothing to do with my lame attempts at finding him a new nickname. "Hey, what the professor and headmaster have to say– it can't be all that bad, Malfoy. Right?"

"Oh, I fail to see why it would be _good_, Weasel. Define bad, exactly," he snaps. "I never wanted any part of this trying to defeat Voldemort rubbish! I would much rather leave the lot of it to Potter. He is the one with the death wish and the blasted scar everyone worships! Apparently, he is far better equipped at this slaying the Dark Lord thing than the three of us put together. At least that's what our grizzled excuse of a Headmaster seems to believe. I cannot imagine what they want of me... you... us. It's bad enough Granger cannot seem to understand the danger she wants to put herself through, and all of it's for nothing, I say!"

"Calm down, Draco!"

The sound of his name coming from me seems to shock him out of his outrage, which is a good thing since I need a moment to think and his panicked yammering was getting in the way.

"What has Hermione told you, Ferret?"

He grimaces. "Same as she has told you, I imagine. Damn near _nothing_. Only that she wants to be close to Potty so she can work against He Who Must Not Be Named in order to keep the Boy Wonder safe. All for naught, I say, since Potter is so set on going off to gain the glory of killing the offending dark wizard to impress the girl. If you ask me, she will get herself killed within the first fifteen minutes of the meeting, dragging you and me along with her as she attempts to selflessly, and stupidly, save Potter."

"You can't pretend to know Harry's motives in all this, Malfoy," I charge, standing up for my best mate. I examine him and his ugly expression for a minute and incredulously add, "You're just jealous!"

He is silent, taking in my accusation. Then on a scoff, he retorts, "Hardly, Weasel. I am simply speaking the truth. Tell me that Potter _has not_ revealed his undying love for her." He looks at me expectantly then sneers when he sees me shift uncomfortably under the weight of his stare. "As I suspected. Tell me his motives are selfless and I will tell you you are feeding me a load," Malfoy says nastily. "You can even attempt to waste your breath trying to convince me he is making something of himself the way saints and martyrs do, but I know that _this_ is all really about Potter wanting to please Hermione _as well as _himself."

"You're a right git, Ferret," I say, scoffing at his shallow suggestion.

"Really, Weasel, try for more originality. Your unbearably mule-headed friend has been calling me _that_ all day." Malfoy is tiredly rubbing at his face and it's hard to make out his words. I watch his long fingers ball into a fist then loosen to run through his silver blonde hair which no longer resembles the slick, hard helmet he wore last term.

"You aren't listening to Hermione when she says she's trying to protect _all of us, _Ferret," I say, accusing him of belittling her real desire to protect him. "I agree she's nutters for thinking this is a good way of doing it, but from everything she's told me, she thinks it's the _right_ way to go about helping _you_."

"I never asked her to do _anything_ for me," his voice starts to grow angry again. "That Know-It-All _thinks_ she can do near _everything_! Her book knowledge does not mean she is always _right_!" His roar echoes in the near empty room. I raise an eyebrow at his show of emotion. Seems he's knackered, too.

"Malfoy, stop talking like the dim-witted, pure-blooded prick you were last term," I demand calmly. "I've had enough of watching you struggle with your feelings for her. Set that confusion aside for now. Just tell me where you think all of this will lead if we agree to her meeting Voldemort. I need to know what to expect."

"I thought you just agreed to her terms, Weasley." His beastly attitude is starting to grate. My lip twitches toward an annoyed scowl. He notices. I watch him stop to think, thankful to see him straighten and decide to do this my way.

"So, you want me to go through the strategic moves like we are playing some sort of life-sized version of Wizard's Chess?" he asks huffily, awaiting my yes.

He sniffs when I give him my nod and he begins his explanation. "Opening move: Granger will speak to Voldemort, attempting to convince him that she is the female heir of Slytherin and a very valuable weapon He needs against Potter." Malfoy stares at me as he speaks so slowly I itch to punch him. His overly drawn out speech emphasizes his momentary belief that I am severely mentally challenged. I impatiently move my hands to indicate he should continue and quickly. He lets out a belabored breath before going on. I struggle not to strangle him, all the while wondering how different his reaction to Hermione's ideas would be if he knew the truth about her.

"_If_ she wins His trust, she better have a good plan to suggest to Voldemort because He is likely to have her do something unspeakable to make her prove herself worthy of joining his side."

I watch Malfoy shudder at the thought of the sort of hazing she might have to undergo to prove she is Slytherin's heir. A cold shiver runs through me as well.

"It has occurred to me that _His_ second move may be to Imperius her to make sure she does not waver in her actions."

"He didn't Imperius _you_," I observe.

"No," he replies quietly. "But, he also wants _me_ to _die_."

I flinch and remain quiet. I don't know what to say because he's said as much before.

"Will _you_ be with her?" I ask.

"I plan to be," he says, his voice absent of its usual swagger. His lack of confidence sends a surprising chill up my spine. I work to convince myself that Malfoy's usual arrogance is lost because he's too tired and not because he's afraid. _Really afraid_.

"My job, according to her," he says, his voice growing more sure, "is to produce the prophecy and corroborate her story. It might be the _only_ thing I can do at that point to save myself since it appears Snape will not allow me to complete the primary task of killing Dumbledore. In any case, Granger does not know it yet, but I also plan on asking Voldemort to let me be her... _I don't know the correct term–_"

The term _sex slave_ jumps to my mind before I have a chance to shove it away.

"Try using _words_, Malfoy," I say testily. "You've got a mess of 'em. Almost as many as Hermione."

He narrows his eyes at me for that poke, exhaling loudly before going on.

"Well, something like her _handler, _I suppose. A bit like what Snape is doing for me with this whole having to kill Dumbledore debacle. I expect that Voldemort will be furious with my inability to kill the Headmaster and that he'll want me punished... _severely_." Malfoy pauses and squirms in his seat. I wonder what such punishment might entail. Based on the look on Draco's face, he seems to be wondering the same thing, too.

He swipes at his eyes with shaky fingers before going on.

"I will have to ingratiate myself, beg for His mercy, that sort of thing, and claim to want to restore my family name by doing his bidding." He stops to hatefully mutter something to himself that sounds a lot like, "Worthless as my family's bloody name is."

For a wizard who is known for his elegant stillness, Malfoy seems unable to keep from tapping his wand against his thigh, running a finger up and down the length of it at every ten taps. I imagine it's a way he can pace without getting up to do it. In any case, he seems somewhat calmed by the regularity of the rhythm.

"Of course, I'll be asked to prove my worth by convincing Him that I am willing and capable of helping Hermione complete the tasks He assigns to her," he continues, voice suddenly flat. "The evil bastard will look into her, Weasel, and he'll see that she lacks the conviction to assist in bringing about Potter's death. He will look into me and will know how I feel. He will discover my undiluted hatred of Potter and its opposing twin emotion..." he pauses meaningfully. Quickly averting his eyes he quietly adds, "I don't think I can hide either from Him."

Having grown used to his nervous movements, I become alarmed at how still Malfoy's become. He seems stuck in a trance as his monotone continues to describe what seems to be his premonition about his ultimate fate. It's like watching Lavender and Parvati gazing into a crystal ball in Trelawny's class. Disturbing, to say the least.

"Maybe you shouldn't try to hide how you feel," I suggest. "It might be just the evidence He'll need to believe that you mean to do as you say."

"The vindictive, twisted soul that He is might just grant me my wish to stay with her, if only to have the last laugh at how she will lose all her faith in me as I work to fulfill my promise to Him," he continues, as though I hadn't spoken, "In the end, she'll hate me. It's inevitable."

I marvel at how he so effortlessly gives in to despair. It seems no wonder that he can't manage a happy thought without the aid of my friend's kiss.

He clears his throat and his voice strengthens, "But through the worst of it, Weasley, I can probably convince Him that I should be at her side. In that way, I will be able to keep her safe through whatever it is He asks of her."

I am oddly touched, and a bit disturbed, at his un-Slytherin-like vow.

"What are you planning on promising Voldemort, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's clear grey eyes meet mine. He speaks the answer without a stutter.

"I will promise to finish anything that Granger might not be able to accomplish on her own, li–"

"–like fulfilling _His_ greatest wish," I finish hollowly, understanding now why Malfoy resists Hermione's request so wholeheartedly. "Voldemort will expect _you_ to bring Harry to Him. And as much as you hate Harry, you don't want to be the one who betrays Hermione."

He nods, eyes downcast, looking completely done over.

"Any chance there's another way?" I wonder aloud.

He looks over at me, focusing on something past my shoulder before answering.

"The only way out of this," he replies morosely, "the only way that will keep her somewhat safe... is for me to kill Dumbledore as I first set out to do and accept my fate as my father's son. Long live his legacy." He places a hand over his heart in mock salute, a wry smile on his face.

I shake my head.

"Not acceptable, Malfoy."

He sighs again then barks a mirthless laugh before resting the back of his head on the wall behind him. In frustrated response, I rub my hand down my face and swear colorfully, finding myself thinking back to the conversation between Harry and me the night before.

An idea strikes.

"Oi! Malfoy, do you know anything about horcruxes? They're really dark magic, I think."

Confused by my sudden change of topic, he shifts uncomfortably and silently settles back onto the bench, eyeing me cautiously.

I continue to stare at him. "Well?" I prod. "Do you know anything about horcruxes?"

"Why is it that you two Gryffindors seem to think dark magic is my sole specialty these days?" His voice is cold and sneering. "Oh, I don't know, Weasley. Let's see, why don't I try to _Accio!_ the information out of the huge vault in my overtaxed brain." His irate reply is somewhat comforting, much better than his despair.

_tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap_

His wand beats a faster cadence against his leg.

Though he might _sound_ like a right prick, seems he's thinking about my question. I exercise some of my newly won self-control as I wait for him to speak. At last, he seems to have snagged on some forgotten memory. He lights up, reminding me some of Hermione. She seems to shine when she's made some sort of discovery in one of her many books.

"I think there _is_ something about horcruxes in my father's book, the one I am using to help train Granger. Why?"

"Well, it seems Dumbledore wants to take Harry on some sort of scavenger hunt to find these horcrux things. I'm not totally sure _what_ they are, but they're supposed to help Harry defeat Voldemort. Harry says he doesn't know _when_ he'll have to leave to do this, and he isn't completely sure _where_ to start. Or _what_ to do when he gathers them..."

"Sounds promising, Carrot Top. Why don't you let me know when you get to the part about this having _anything... remotely.. TO DO WITH ME!_"

"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, calm the bloody hell down! And stop calling me _that._ Red was better. Anyway, just listen," I huff. "Harry's hoping Dumbledore will give him this information soon."

The Slytherin rolls his eyes and shuts them, bouncing the back of his head against the wall twice, clearly of the opinion that getting answers from the Headmaster is much like asking a goblin to hand over gold. While I tend to agree, I ignore his pessimism and continue with my idea.

"Harry figures that if Dumbledore has to stay at Hogwarts during this hunt, or if something worse happens to the Headmaster," I stop to stare pointedly at Malfoy who returns my observation with a scowl. "Well, Harry asked if I would go with him, leaving Hermione and Ginny behind. So, what if–"

I suddenly realize I'm getting ahead of myself with this suggestion. After all, I still haven't completely decided if I want to reveal everything Harry's confided in me to Malfoy.

"What if _what_, Weasley?" he snaps. I can feel his desperate need to grasp onto something... _anything_...

"Well, _what if_ I let Hermione know I'm going on this hunt with Harry. She'll want to come. She _always_ wants to come, and she especially hates it when we pull any macho stuff on her about it being unsafe for girls."

I watch a smirk form on Malfoy's mouth at my accurate description of our brainy friend. "So, I was thinking, maybe the idea of going away with Harry and me will stop her from wanting to visit Voldemort."

All too quickly Malfoy's smirk is gone, replaced by something far more stormy.

"You mean, _go_ _away_... with you and... _Potter_?" His silver eyes turn cobalt, his tone testy. "Potter and Hermione, _alone_? _Together_?"

"I'll be there, of course. But yeah, that's the idea."

He shakes his head forcefully.

"No. I don't like it," he pronounces, as princely as you please.

_Selfish prat. _I almost feel sorry for him_. _

"They're barely speaking as it is," I say offering him some comfort without putting a name to his emotion. "Think about it, Malfoy, at least she won't face What's His Name."

"I'm not sure which option is worse, Weasel," he says, suddenly glum, "my imminent death or losing her to Potter. It is altogether likely that she will lose all faith in me either way."

I think about accusing him of jealousy again but decide against it.

"Look, she's barely giving him the time of day," I say, trying to ease his worry. "Harry's groveling at her feet and she's still not really speaking to him. She's still mad as hell about what he did to you."

I catch Malfoy's sharp look.

_Right. Yeah, well, come to think of it, I'd still be pretty mad too, if Harry sliced into me and left me to bleed to death. _

"It was just a suggestion, mate," I say good-naturedly, doing the unthinkable and clapping my hand on his shoulder. "Maybe there are other options. Let's go see what Snape and Dumbledore want. Hey, maybe _they'll_ have some ideas."


	27. Emmanuelle: Dieu est Avec Nous

**A Week Prior to the night of "The Kiss"  
**_Voldemort's secret hideout, small house with a giant marble skull on the front door in a graveyard of great significance._

**

* * *

**

"Speak, witch," He hisses from his cold marble throne. Nagini is twisted atop the high-back, resting against her Master's shoulders. Her tongue slides lazily in and out of her mouth.

"There's a new prophecy, my Lord," Bellatrix's fevered gaze is greedy for His attention and for this single moment she has it.

"… and what does this have to do with me?" impatience colors His inquiry.

"There is a female Slytherin heir who is fated to be your greatest weapon against The Chosen One, My Lord," Bella's eyes are shining with excitement.

"Where did you learn of this?" comes His hissed reply.

Bellatrix sends Him an audacious smile as she genuflects, arms outstretched, inviting Him inside her head. Her gaze locks with His in such intense intimacy it seems obscene to witness the exchange. Her smile widens as she stares at the Dark Lord with lustful abandon. He chides her softly as he sifts through her scattered thoughts.

"Poking around in your sister's memories, Bellatrix? Dastardly of you. Nevertheless, it seems you've happened on a gold mine… A previously unknown line… seemingly sired by my unfortunate relation now unearthed by the young Malfoy brat. How surprisingly resourceful your nephew is revealing himself to be. And here I thought I was the only Slytherin heir worthy of claiming Salazar's legacy."

Voldemort's lipless grin splits his snake-like visage, a knowing gleam in his evil slitted orbs. Even Bellatrix appears confused by his sudden good humor. His villainous laughter booms, startling the handful of Death Eaters in the room.

"At last, the seed that had been planted has finally come to fruition. You-" He points a spindly finger in the general direction of his assembled group of followers who turn avidly toward Him with lowered gaze. "Find this half-blood child and bring her to me. Look in Muggle London. Her name is Emmanuelle Muestilde."

One of the Death Eaters whips his head up to meet his Master's stare. Voldemort's grin transforms into a malevolent sneer, "Yes, Yaxley. You and I know her father."

The Death Eaters whisk themselves away as Voldemort sends himself into yet another gale of echoing empty laughter. Bellatrix stares at Him with wary confusion.

_Had He plucked the girl's name from her mind even though she has no memory of ever knowing it?_

**

* * *

POV: Harry  
Upon Hermione's arrival to Gryffindor Tower after leaving Draco and Ron

* * *

**

She comes into the common room, book bag thrown carelessly over her shoulder, looking flushed and out of sorts. I find myself smiling at her. She looks a bit dazed, the corner of her mouth tugging upward, and there's something else in her look that I can't place. I watch her absently touch her finger to her lips, gliding it along the bottom one. Her eyelids flutter closed for a moment and she wears a look of secret pleasure. It's an unguarded moment that I'm certain she wouldn't want anyone to see.

"Hermione!" I call out, drawing her attention toward me. She jumps a little and I flinch as her eyes shutter her emotions away from me. This extra caution of hers is my fault, I know, and I continue to wonder desperately how I will undo the harm I'd done to our now wobbly friendship.

From my spot sitting on the floor, I watch her carefully fix a plastic smile on her face before turning to fully greet me.

"Hi, Harry."

This two word reply is a vast improvement from her overly polite civility and outright avoidance of me since Ron and I returned from the Burrow. I've been trying to make up for all the wrongs by staying out of her way, but nearly a month of this is too much and the idea of going on like this for much longer seems too terrible a burden to bear. I feel shut out of the growing friendship between her and Ron and resentful that I'm unwelcome to share in their easy laughter and quiet conversations.

I still can't think of Malfoy without wanting to hurt the bugger, so I try to pretend the Slytherin doesn't exist.

"Will you sit a spell, Hermione?"

I watch her hesitate, biting her lower lip, which is the only evidence that she is carefully considering the repercussions of each of the actions open to her.

"Just sit with me for a minute, Hermione," I urge. "I promise I won't do anything stupid. I just... I just wanted to spend some time with you. For old time's sake."

She wavers visibly, then on a sigh, walks over to the the overstuffed loveseat that I am leaning my back on, drops her bag on the floor, and slides onto the crimson cushions.

"What are you still doing up, Harry?"

"Homework. I have to catch up in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts," I grumble. "Snape's still after me and I just realized that referencing the Half-Blood Prince's self-made brews set the bar too high for me to reach on my own. I can't seem to meet Slughorn's expectations of me with only my brainpower. This is the third time I've re-written this essay."

"Shall I have a look?"

"No, but thanks all the same," I say, happy that she'd offered her help when I thought for sure she'd launch into one of her overworn I-told-you-so lectures. "It seems like you're doing a lot of studying yourself, Hermione. I don't want to bother you with my assignments. I brought it on myself, so you know... I ought to take care of it myself."

"That's big of you," she replies meaningfully, "but you don't have to do everything yourself, you know."

From the corner of my eye, I watch her slouch into the couch, her head rests on the back of it, a faraway look on her face. She hasn't looked this contented all term. I absently wonder who helped place that peace and joy there. I have a sickening feeling that it's probably best I don't know.

"Do you miss _us_, Hermione?"

"What do you mean, Harry?"

"You know, _us_ — Ron. You. Me. Just us?"

She's silent a moment, mulling over my question.

"Yes, sometimes I wish it could be like old times with the three of us giving the professors conniption fits while we help you fight the megalomaniac," she chuckles softly and is silent again.

On a sigh she continues, "But hormones make things complicated, Harry, don't they? It's hard to be the _us_ we were with you kissing me, but truly wanting Ginny. And, when we all thought he fancied me, Ron's off snogging Lavender and who knows who else. Then, of course, there's me—"

"You?"

"Well, yes, I've made it all the more complicated by involving... Malfoy, haven't I?" she admits softly, a worried note in her voice.

"That's the understatement of the century, Hermione," I say with some light derision. I decide for now to ignore her assumptions about my feelings for Ginny. Instead, I turn half-way to look at her with one eye. "I am sorry for everything I've said and done to the Ferret, Hermione."

She casts me a doubtful look.

"For _most_ everything this term, anyway," I qualify, more earnestly, "but I honestly don't understand the fascination. What is it about _him_? Why Malfoy?" I struggle to keep the hurt from my question. "Wait, Hermione, never mind. Don't answer that."

It seems she's decided to ignore my last request when after a minute of quiet contemplation she replies, "You know me and my soft spot for lost causes, Harry."

I turn more fully around to look at her. She's laying on her back, staring at the ceiling as she's often done when we're the last students in the common room. Her shapely legs are slung over the couch's arms. She's moved so that her fragrant head of hair is next to the back of mine. The sweet tantalizing scent of her drives me to distraction. "Maybe it's the possibility of Malfoy's redemption, Harry. I don't know. He's just _interesting_ and clever and worthy of forgiveness. There's something about hi—."

"And what am I to you, Hermione?" I interrupt, tuning away from her again so I don't see how she physically reacts to my quietly-asked question. Part of the reason I'd thrown out my inquiry was to stop her annoying recital of the things she finds admirable in the Slytherin, the sight of whom I can't stomach.

I listen to her shift behind me. I suck in my breath, when I feel the shock of her arms suddenly wrap around my neck and chest in one of her bone-crushing hugs that I've missed so terribly. Her tumble of hair surrounds me and I feel the press of her jaw against my temple. I'm dumbfounded, shocked that somehow, without truly trying, I've managed to find myself back in her good graces.

"You will _always_ be Harry to me," she whispers, sending a delighted thrill through me. "You're so… _you_, Harry. I can't really explain it. I feel so good when we are together like this, and I just know that I will always love you... even when you are an unbelievable git."

My heart is warmed to hear of her love for me despite this rocky school term and the immense damage I'd done to our friendship. Perhaps it is not the sort of love I want her to feel for me, but I do have this one vow from her. And I know a promise from Hermione is one set for life. I'd warrant that it's more than she's ever given to Malfoy. _This thought gives me some consolation._ I've half-convinced myself that if the two of us spend more time together, like we have tonight, the friendly love she has for me will have a chance to blossom into something more.

"Hermione—"

"Stop, Harry," she pleads, her arms tighten around me and I forget what I am about to say. "Let's start over, alright? You and I are best friends, Harry. I will do everything in my power to support you in whatever your next trials will be. You can trust me with your life and I promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. Always."

I am amused by her take charge intensity. _Typical Hermione_.

"Do you trust me, Harry? Even with Malfoy in my life and things still a bit strained between you and me, do you still trust me?"

"Yes, Hermione, of course I do," I answer without thinking, my lips brush against her forearm.

"Harry, I've been thinking."

I close my eyes to these words and feel her take in a deep breath before she continues. This sort of precursor is never good coming from her. I brace myself as I listen to her new _thoughts_.

"I believe you've simply convinced yourself that you love me like a girlfriend. I know it's Ginny whom you really fancy. You're just confused right now, mostly because I'm the only girl you've truly been able to talk to. I'm sure if you just talk to Ginny..."

"No, Hermione. I am not confused," I say tightly, trying to keep my anger at her denial of my feelings in check. This is the know-it-all part of her that I find so aggravating.

"I think maybe, it's _you_ who is confused, Hermione. You see, I don't believe you can really love someone who needs to be saved. That's not an enduring kind of love. That sort passes after the cause is won." I press the side of my head to hers and place my hands on her arms, keeping her close. "I want you to understand that as far as I'm concerned, you don't have to save me. The one thing that I'd like you to think about, though, is what you just told me. I want you to think about this love you have for me.

"Do you know what I find _interesting_, Hermione?" I add, purposely using the word she'd used to describe the traits that keeps her straying back to Malfoy. "I think it's most _interesting_ that you can so easily tell me that you love me. Can you tell _him_ that so easily?"

I turn my head towards her while her arms are still loosely wound around my neck. She has gone curiously still. I place a chaste kiss on her cheek. She stiffens slightly at the touch. I push softly against her embrace and the comfort of her arms silently drops away. I turn to stand and gather my things with an _Accio_. I look down and cast her a lingering smile, loving the sight of her flyaway hair strewn carelessly over the sofa's cushions.

"What's more, Hermione, I'm curious as to whether you find it at all interesting that I am just as comfortable telling you that I love you, too? I wonder, has _he_ been able to tell you the same and truly mean it as I do?"

She stares at me owlishly, stunned, I think. I lean down to stroke her hair without truly attempting to tame her wild waves. When she still hasn't said anything, I gently brush my palm against her cheek.

"Goodnight, Hermione," I say quietly. "I do love you, you know, and you will always be Hermione to me, no matter how stubborn you are. I've missed us— _just the you and me part_— more than I think you'll ever know."

As I turn away from her to make my way back toward the boy's dormitory, I catch her barely audible, "Oh, Harry."

Trudging up the stairs, I can't help but send a smile towards her again.

**

* * *

POV: Draco  
**_At the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's Office_**

* * *

**

"Acid Pops," Weasley says, staring squarely at Dumbledore's stony-faced office guard. We wait for the statue of the gargoyle to leap away but nothing happens.

"Acid Pops!" he tries again, more loudly this time, casting me a look of consternation.

Still _nothing_.

"Weasley, are you quite sure you heard Snape correctly?"

"Yes, he said, 'Acid Pops,'" The redhead asserts. He tilts his head up suddenly, appearing to contemplate the ceiling. "I think that's what..."

I let out an aggrieved sigh.

_Think. Think. _

"Lemon Drop," I say with surprising conviction. The words force their way out of my mouth as soon as they pop into my head.

The gargoyle leaps aside with such suddenness that we both take a step backward.

_Of course THAT would work. _Something rolls in the pit of my stomach. I have the distinct feeling that I am going to dislike this upcoming meeting very, very much.

As the wall behind it splits in two to reveal the revolving stone staircase, I send Weasley an annoyed glare.

"What! At least I knew it was _two_ words!"

I don't bother to roll my eyes skyward, I just push him along so he is the first to capture a step on the moving spiral staircase.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley... and you've brought along Mr. Malfoy. Splendid. Splendid."

Snape is standing at the mantel. The headmaster sits behind his desk, sending us his welcome. As we step foot on the main level, he gestures toward the several armchairs in the room.

"Sit, boys."

I take a chair furthest from the desk and I watch Weasley consider one closer, but he chooses the one within arm's length of mine. I can watch him from the corner of my eye and do so. I am not so quick to disguise my contempt for Snape and stop myself from staring daggers at the two-faced Slytherin Head while Dumbledore speaks.

"I am of the understanding that you have been conducting some extra credit work for Professor Snape in the study of the Defense Against Dark Arts, and that Miss Granger is also part of this extra-curricular activity, Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Weasley?"

I say nothing, but Weasley, who is ever-trusting nods his head, vigorously. I reach over and knock his elbow off the armchair. He turns to me and I sneer at him, a silent warning to shut the hell up. His eyes widen, realizing he'd done something stupid.

_Idiot Gryffindor!_

"Mr. Malfoy, I see you are still suspicious of The Order's involvement in your life," Dumbledore says, "It is understandable that you are distrusting, particularly since your Mother's safety hinges on your choices. I do not blame you, but time is of the essence and I must somehow win your trust… and do so very quickly." He stops to stare at me. I turn away. "I believe, Mr. Malfoy, that I must speak plainly this evening."

_Thank goodness,_ I think. My muddled brain would not be able to withstand the Headmaster's ambiguity tonight. Even so, I stiffen as he moves to standing. He bends down and lifts a small box from a drawer and places it on his desktop. Then he trains his bright blue, unwavering gaze on me again.

_Exposed_.

I do not like this feeling.

"Mr. Malfoy, I know of the prophecy that Lucius gave you before he was taken to Azkaban."

I whip my head toward Snape to send him an accusatory glare.

"No, Draco. I knew of the prophecy long before Professor Snape ever did."

I turn slowly back to the sight of Dumbledore, now beside his desk. My gaze narrows to take in only the intense blue of his eyes. I want to fully examine in those depths the veracity of the Headmaster's unbelievable claim.

"Draco, I was the one who discovered it."

Weasley gasps for the both of us. I don't look in my contemporary's direction and for once am thankful for the brutal training I'd received to forever be in control of my emotional responses. It gives me a moment to think about how this knew knowledge affects me.

I shift back into my chair, draw an ankle to my knee and settle lazily into the cradle of the seat. I carefully place an insolent smile on my face. My fingertips meet and my thumb pads press against one another, helping me to focus my thoughts.

_Perhaps this is not so bad after all._

"Well, then, Professor Dumbledore, that is a relief," I say loudly, startling both Weasley and Snape. "Now you can tell Granger that she shouldn't go on with her harebrained scheme to visit Voldemort." A loud harrumph interrupts me. Snape's dark gaze burrows into me. I snort indelicately and continue. "It appears I've used the wrong title and discontented my mentor," I say sneeringly at Snape. "In any case, Granger will no longer have to meet _The Dark Lord_ and we can work on retrieving the real Slytherin heir from the Muggle world. If you know about the prophecy, you know where to find the girl?"

"I do beg your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore begins, a puzzled look on his face, aimed at... _curious_... Weasley, "but don't you know—"

A sudden wind in the room throws the papers on the Headmaster's desk into the air. I turn to look at Weasley and am shocked to discover Ron holding out his wand and muttering something that keeps the strong breeze blowing in the office.

"Mr. Weasley!" shouts Snape.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Professor, I don't know what's come over me."

I want to kick the redhead for his interference. But at the sight of the less than subtle non-verbal warnings Ron sends out to _both_ professors, I quickly observe that I am the only one in the room without all of the facts.

"You were saying, Professor?" I prod more deliberately, gritting my teeth.

"Mr. Malfoy, has Miss Granger explained the importance of her role in all of th—"

Mid-sentence, Dumbledore averts his attention to the box on the desk which has suddenly come to life. It rattles and lifts from the desktop, light pours from it and there seems to be a muffled yelling coming from inside. Whatever is housed within wants desperately to escape its confines.

I catch Dumbeldore's worried glance at Snape and the younger professor's half-shrug in response. Ron, too, seems to have deflated into his chair, though he seems somewhat interested in the now rocking box. I sit up, eager to discover what this might reveal. The Headmaster reaches over and picks the box up. He lifts the lid and a nearly hoarse masculine voice roars up from the inside.

"-lbus! Albus! They've taken her! They've taken Emmanuelle!"

I look to Snape for explanation but find the professor staring into the flames in the floo.

"Leo, find calm," Dumbledore says gently, staring at whomever he's speaking to. "Tell me, _who_ has taken her."

"The slaves of The Dark Lord!" comes the shouted reply. "His Death Eaters have taken Emmanuelle!"

A cold chill sweeps over me during the moment of silence in which I listen to the labored breathing coming from the box. Is this the very same Emmanuelle?_ The squib? Hermione's friend?_

Suddenly there emanates a loud squeak, a masculine sound, but similar to the one Hermione makes when she realizes she's forgotten something of great importance.

"What of Hermione, Albus! Tell me that she's safe as well!"

I turn to look at Ron who's gone so shockingly white that his freckles appear suspended from his face. Then, I look to Snape whose mouth hangs uncharacteristically agape as he attempts to hide his reaction from me by turning to stare at Dumbledore.

_Something is very wrong here._

"Professor Dumbledore," I ask with a voice as strong as I can muster. "May I ask to whom are you speaking?"

The Headmaster lifts his head to make eye contact and seems somewhat confused about what he should do.

"Who is speaking, Albus?" the perturbed query comes from the box. "I'd like to see."

Dumbledore seems to have gotten over his indecision. He turns and lifts the frame from its box, settling it on the edge of his desk

"This, Mr. Muestilde, is Draco Malfoy, the boy I've spoken to you about," the Headmaster says. "And Draco, this is Mr. Leopolde Muestilde... Miss Granger's _grandfather_."

I sit straighter in my chair and look to Weasley. I watch him lift his hands to cover his eyes. He shakes his head with a moan. I feel Snape scrutinizing my every move. I avoid his gaze in case he is trying to read my memories. I turn to look at the small portrait on the desk and _Accio_ it to the small table in front of me. Despite my shock at the introduction, I recognize this man as a much older version of the silent young prefect in the Ravenclaw portrait. He has a mess of white tumbleweed hair that might have at one time been a dark chestnut brown.

"Good evening, Sir," I say politely into the frame. "Perhaps you might be Aiden Muestilde's... father?" I inquire lightly, hiding the roiling anger building inside at the secrets Hermione has likely been keeping from me considering her great insistence at confronting Voldemort. "Do you happen to know the Grangers?"

"I do not. That is to say, we are not close. But, yes, I am Aiden's father… but Aiden… he is..." his voice quakes and a sob is barely restrained.

"Leo?" Dumbledore asks concerned, still standing behind the frame.

"Aiden was hexed, fighting to protect Emmanuelle. We don't know what sort of spell hit him. Thanks be that it wasn't the Avada. He's at St. Mungo's. He isn't well, Albus. He was fighting to protect her. He'd seen it coming. He was a Seer, you know. I came after Caroline called. Of course he and the other aurors did all they could to protect her," Mr. Muestilde's voice shakes as he babbles almost nonsensically. "It's not right that a father should outlive his son. I pray the Healers will be able to save him. Before slipping into a coma, Aiden's last words to Caroline were to watch Hermione. Caroline, of course, doesn't know what to make of it. She just thought that I should know. Is _she_ alright?"

Everyone appears flummoxed at the query.

I'm still raging at Hermione for her lack of confidence in me to tell me of her ancestry, as convoluted as it seems to me at the moment. And, I can't even begin to explain my anger at the three others in the room. I want to stalk out of the office and leave this mess to them. I want to deny all parts of my involvement in this impending disaster that may claim my life and that of so many other innocents.

Unfortunately, I make the mistake of looking at the man in the portrait. His face is pressed up so closely that his hair is no longer in the frame. He looks wildly worried for Hermione, a girl I am guessing he's only lately learned is his. The very same girl I've only just learned could also be mine.

Resignedly, I put my hand in my trouser pocket to grasp onto the twin of the flower I hope is still hanging around her neck. I close my eyes for a moment and see an image of her laying on a couch in the Gryffindor common room.

"Hermione is perfectly fine, Sir," I say confidently, pausing to take in the relief in his eyes. "And, be assured, Mr. Muestilde, she is ready to fight for the safe return of Emmanuelle. I have..." I turn to Ron and then back at the man in the frame, "_We_ have helped to train her, along with Professor Snape."

There is a pregnant pause as he surveys me.

"And you, my boy? Are _you_ prepared to fight for my granddaughter's safety?"

_Which granddaughter?_ I think lamely as I feel four pairs of eyes staring expectantly at me.

He pulls back and I can see him again. A wizard. A magical grandfather, but a Muggle, I'll bet. This confusion I have surrounding Hermione fills me. How much does she know of this? How much has she been keeping from me? I feel a desperate need to sort it all out.

But judging from the piteous looks Ron attempts to hide from my view, I know she is not innocent, that Hermione, in fact, knows the lot of it. The deep, agony I feel just from the possibility of such deception is highly alarming. It threatens to suffocate me.

She is a LIAR! SHE IS A LIAR! After all her holier-than-thou insistence that I bare my soul and secrets to the most powerful member of The Order, she deigns to keep this earth-tiltling information from me? And, I am to learn of her betrayal in this way? With every man in the room knowing of my obvious ignorance of the central role she plays in this prophecy?

The heat of anger and some humiliation roars up inside of me. I feel my fury sparking at my fingertips.

Suddenly, a touch of sanity enters my head. _It must be Snape._ He is pulling up my memories of her, filling my mind with her, despite my desire to beat them all back. The remembered image of her at work in the potions classroom calms me like a salve. Memories of her act as a fire retardant that throws cool water over this inferno of rage that threatens to consume. I suspect Snape knows this.

I look helplessly at him now, the man who has tortured Hermione so thoroughly. He'd been training her for her destiny, a fate everyone but I had been privy to. I want to shout at my godfather for leading me into this trap that has me dangling between filial duty and this itchy, uncomfortable bundle of feelings for a girl that only last year I wanted to squash like a bug.

I look at Ron, her friend, and now to some degree also mine. He has acted as confidante to the both of us. He has helped me learn aggressive bright magic that repels all the dark that might swallow her up on this quest. And Ron has taught me something of myself that I could not have learned within a classroom. And wonders of wonders, I find myself unwillingly grateful for the redhead's interference in my life.

Then, I look at Dumbledore who is the mastermind of this chess game. As I gaze at the enigma of him, I cannot decide between the feelings of resentment or awe. My tired mind tells me it is quite alright to feel both.

At last, I finally rest my eyes on the man in the portrait claiming to be Hermione's grandfather. He is silently taking measure of me.

His unruly wild hair reminds me of Hermione and I am once again filled with unbidden thoughts of her. A Gryffindor, but Slytherin by blood? I bite back a curse that stems from a deeper hurt inside my chest.

_Betrayal_. A whimper escapes me. I only know this because out of the corner of my eye I see Ron turn sharply to ensure my wellness.

Images of her continue to torment me. I remember the feel of Hermione in my arms. I relish the sound of her needy gasp at my touch. I hold onto the heavenly memory her lips upon mine, and even though I am infuriated beyond belief at her hypocrisy, I know there is no turning away from this mission now. I have made my choices and, come hell or high-water, I know there is no room for the legendary cowardice that has all my life marked me as a Malfoy.

So, I look squarely into the eyes of this man, this magical relation of hers and answer him.

"Mr. Muestilde, please call me _Draco_. And, yes, Sir… I am ready to fight for her safety." I continue to press my fingertips and thumbs together, gathering some previously untapped strength from a deeper part of me. I turn to survey the other men in the room. "Have we a plan?"


	28. RESPECT

**A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words  
**_**POV: Leo Muestildae**_

_**

* * *

**_

"We will have to retrieve Emmanuelle, of course," Dumbledore speaks as if to himself but loud enough for my magically-painted image to hear.

"You're bloody right we'll retrieve her!" I shout, infuriated at not being able to see the headmaster, having been presented only with the haughty rigidity of the blond sitting in front me.

"But, Professor, we cannot simply walk into the Manor and demand she be returned," young Malfoy says in commanding, clipped tones. Gone was the confused boy who had stared into the frame only minutes earlier.

"Indeed," agrees Dumbledore. "If she is being kept there, we have to plan an extraction. Your role, Mr. Malfoy, is now pivotal. Your grasp of the skills taught to you by Professor Snape, and Mr. Weasley here, must now be put to a test—the first of many, I am afraid."

"What are you thinking of having me do, Headmaster?" Draco replies coolly.

"Visit your mother, Draco, and while you are there, learn of where they might be keeping Emmanuelle."

I watch Malfoy stiffen at this. He's clearly reluctant. Watching him increases the fear I have for the only granddaughter I have known and this new young woman, Hermione Granger, who I have yet to lay eyes on.

"He doesn't seem prepared for any such thing," I interject, watching the slight rise of chin and clenching of jaw in the young man. This Draco lad appears clearly insulted by my observations.

"I'd like to accompany Draco, Sir," the red-headed boy offers instantly. I watch Ron Weasley cast a quick look my way.

Malfoy scoffs at his friend's earnestness.

"You will only be killed, Weasley," the blond sneers. "His Lordship will recognize you instantly as the blood traitor you are. To him, you have no redeeming qualities whatsoever." I startle at the young man's use of a title for He Who Must Not Be Named.

"Perhaps it might be a good idea that you _both_ accompany Snape," Dumbledore says decisively. A swift intake of breath seems to come from behind my picture frame. "Severus, Mr. Weasley will be the first to utilize your new and improved Polyjuice potion."

A look of alarm crosses the other young man's face, but he quickly masks his disquiet. Appearing unperturbed, almost scholarly at the declaration Mr. Malfoy says to the men in the room, "I had heard, Professor, that you were working on prolonging the effects of the potion. I imagine that such a thing could come in quite handy."

"That would depend on who might be in disguise," Snape replies. The blond nods, scowling, obviously remembering something rather uncomfortable. I hear Mr. Weasley smothering a laugh.

"Shut it, Weasley."

"But it was hilarious, Ferret." Draco sends Ron another searing look and the redhead sounds instantly contrite, "Right. Sorry... Sorry."

"It would seem, Draco," Snape's voice interrupts, "we have much to do before the weekend to prepare you. Your mother and aunt both indicate you are required at the mansion since your condition is much improved."

"FOUR DAYS!" I roar. "Any number of atrocities can befall Emmanuelle in that much time! Even one more minute in the clutches of those vile beings is far too long!"

"If I may offer you some comfort, Sir, should the girl be at the Manor," Snape says meaningfully, "Narcissa Malfoy will look after her. She will experience discomfort, yes, but not cruelty while under Mrs. Malfoy's watch. Your granddaughter's legacy, or at least the appearance of her being the Slytherin heir, is enough to protect her... for now."

"And the other Order Members will be sent to scour the countryside and will discover her if she is anywhere else."

The look in young Malfoy's face is one of abject disbelief at the Professor's silky words.

"I beg to differ, Professor, I happen to agree with Mr. Muestildae," there is an urgency in young Malfoy's voice that I admire. "We must enact a plan immediately. This Muggle girl is in grave danger. My mother does not have the power to protect her."

"Your mother is much changed, Draco, be calm," Snape replies, "Understand that we must consider everything before going forth. The Dark Lord is insane, yes, but his madness does not preclude his intelligence and cunning. We must be prepared in all ways before moving in to save this girl."

"And what of the other tasks set before me?" the blond asks. "What am I to do about those? Simply forget about them?"

"After this, we must continue waiting for the Dark Lord and his minions to contact you about opening the cabinet to Hogwarts," Snape drily announces.

Malfoy stares at him.

"I will not kill the Headmaster," the young man says meaningfully. "I have no stomach for it."

_**

* * *

POV: Draco

* * *

**_

"We have already decided that Professor Snape will do the deed," Dumbledore chuckles at my impertinence. Ron and I send one another alarmed looks. The most powerful member of The Order seems madder than Looney Lovegood and Trelawney combined.

A loud gasp comes from the man in the portrait. His frantic movements draw my eyes toward him and I turn the frame to face the Headmaster and Snape.

"Do not fear, lads," the headmaster says jovially. "There is a reason for everything under heaven. And, young Mr. Malfoy," he adds, "I will not have you shatter your soul to fulfill Riddle's dream. There, however, still remains the quandary that is Miss Granger... hmmm... rather, Miss Muestilde. She must, of course, continue to be watched and protected."

His bright blue eyes brighten with high expectations as he focuses his attention on me. His unwavering stare sends alarm bells clanging in my head. "Mr. Malfoy, have you been trying to open the box?"

"The box, Sir?"

"Surely by now you've nearly discovered the secret of the puzzle box?"

"No, Sir, only one side," I reluctantly admit. "The others are still intact. Sir, might you simply tell me what I must do? What the code is?"

"I'm afraid that unlocking the puzzle requires the new owner to discover the code himself. You have been researching Muggle vows, yes?"

"Not in-depth, Sir."

"I am disappointed in your lack of effort, Mr. Malfoy." There is a note of mild disapproval in his voice.

"I will strive to do better, Headmaster," I reply humbly, belying my secret thoughts. _What difference would the damnable box make in the scope of things?_

"Take the portrait, Draco," the man within the frame demands. "I'll try to help you with the _research._" The tone in Muestildae's grandfatherly voice brooks no argument and indicates to me that he, too, believes the Headmaster is as barmy as a loon.

The three men in the room look on approvingly as I trepidatiously reach out and curl my fingers around the top of the gold-gilted frame. I try to hide my disdainful sneer, already knowing the closed, dark place in my dorm that will hold the image of Granger's grandfather.

_**

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The next morning...

* * *

**_

This morning, I sit waiting at the Slytherin table to catch sight of the sneaky, lying witch before classes start for the day. Last night, Ron and I left the office heavy-hearted. I hurriedly put the portrait of Mustildae in one of the deep pockets of my cloak, but before I did, I managed to give it a glance only to discover his image absent from the frame. Ron and I parted, hissing at each other that neither one of us was to tell Hermione what had happened to Emmanuelle. I secretly doubted Weasley could keep anything from the Bookworm. My only hope was the knowledge that we both equally feared what she would try to do to save the girl.

This lie of omission hardly seems wrong considering I am still smarting after last evening's revelations about Hermione's Slytherin self.

I sit seething as I watch a shadow fall over the threshold of the Great Hall. To my utter shock and disgust, she enters the Great Hall sandwiched between Scarhead and Ron.

_The Golden Trio, back together again._

I watch her gaze surreptitiously slide to the Slytherin side of the room. She takes survey of my table and her sights land on me. Despite my fury at her deception, a wild rush of pleasure flows through me at the knowledge that she seeks the sight of me just as much as I do her. A secret smile touches her lips just before she turns away from me back to the conversation she's having with Potter. Ron, on the other hand, has watched this silent regard pass between the two of us and he turns to stare squarely at me, attempting to send me a warning of sorts.

_So, he hasn't told her that I know her little secret._

Well, that _is_ interesting. Perhaps even Ron's great Gryffindor courage has its bounds. I also wonder at his restraint to keep the information of Emmanuelle's kidnapping a secret. It was fortunate we both agreed that telling Hermione would result in disastrous consequences.

I watch the three head to their table, and with an inner snarl, I notice the usual space between Hermione and Potter has closed. I feel a rise of temper as Potter takes a seat beside her. Ron is across from them; his eyes do not stray from mine. Deciding to ignore him, I am the first to break the stare. Avoiding Ron's gaze, I zone in on Potter's hand brushing at Hermione's shoulder as he speaks to her. His mouth moves to her ear and I still myself, straining every muscle to keep from launching wand-first at him. I hear the bright twinkle of her laugh from across the room and it sets my teeth on edge.

"Draco, you'll be there, too, right?" Goyle's face is suddenly in mine. "Oi, Draco, what are you staring at over there at the Gryffindor table?"

"I was doing no such thing, Greg," I grouch with a scowl, my mood darkening with every caress I spy Potter bestow on Hermione. "I was simply amusing myself with thoughts about how nice it is not to have to work with the Mudblood anymore."

_No longer a mudblood, apparently_, I seethe to myself. Goyle laughs heartily and I cringe inside at how easy it is to wrap myself up in the comfort of my old behavioral patterns.

_Hurt and betrayal seem to do wonders for my attitude._

"You will be there, then?" Pansy inquires lightly. For the life of me, I cannot wrap my head around exactly where _there_ is we're supposed to be. On a sigh, I say offhandedly, "And, where is it that we are expected to be, pray tell?"

I watch a bemused look cross Pansy's face. She twitters at my confusion.

"Have you been turning away your mother's owl again, Draco?" she scolds teasingly. "Why, we're expected at Malfoy Manor in two weeks time, of course. I expected that you'd be called away this weekend to help prepare the Manor. The lot of us have been invited by your mother and your Aunt Bellatrix. They must be receiving orders from The Da—"

I send her a silencing glare that immediately does its job. Inside, my blood runs ice cold at the thought of returning to the Manor.

"Whatever for?" I wonder, puzzled why so many things have been kept secret from me. Besides last night, this is the first I had heard of any such a thing.

"The Dark Lord summons us," Crabbe whispers excitedly over his porridge. Apparently, I had spoken aloud.

"We're finally going to receive our Marks, Draco!" Goyle announces gleefully to the loud shushing of the others at the table.

Before the primal scream in my head reaches my lips, I rise abruptly from my place at the bench, sending the wooden legs scraping in loud protest against the stone floor. Heads turn. I feel Hermione's curious stare on me.

"I... I just realized I have an early meeting with Snape about detentions," I manage to splutter. I leave the Great Hall and the confused stares of my housemates behind.

_**

* * *

That night, after staying out of sight most of the day...

* * *

**_

"You've been avoiding me, Draco."

We share prefect duty tonight. I forgot she had traded with the Ravenclaw prefect so we could complete rounds together and perhaps train afterwards. I watch Hermione's seductive approach. Seems she enjoyed our kisses as much as I did. Her saucy little smile makes me want to forget what I learned about her in the headmaster's office, but this thought has me recalling the humiliation of enduring the incredulous stares of the four others who wondered how I had gotten so close to this girl, even performed Legilimency on her, without discovering her truths.

_How? Indeed._

No, she could not just waltz up to me as though she had not committed the most heinous of crimes. Her hand reaches for mine and I balk at her touch. Her eyebrows knit together in consternation.

"Do not touch me." I snarl scornfully at her startled gasp and pull away from the hand she offers. I turn and stride down the hallway with no particular destination... just _away_. Away from the tempting sight of her. Away from the innocent, hurt look she gives me, the one that begs me to listen to her reasons and forgive her just as swiftly as she offers her excuses.

"What have I done to make you behave this way?" she cries softly into the darkened hall, heedless of witnesses. "Please, Draco, tell me, so I can make it better."

I hear her running. The apricot scent of her wafts around me. She is too close. Her frantic actions to slow my gait has the softness of her flyaway hair teasing my face, touching my robes, and falling against the back of my hands as the strands fly around her. The memory of her kiss slams into me as I feel her suddenly wrap her arms around me from behind. Her touch drives me insane and I turn to blindly grab at her. She steps back to welcome my receptive movement and then rushes toward me, expecting an embrace.

Instead, I catch her shoulders in my hands and slam her up against the wall of the deserted corridor. I close in. My face is inches from hers and I see the alarm in her eyes at my rough handling. I grab at my wand and _Alohamora!_ the nearest classroom door open. I forcefully shove her inside, following closely behind. She trips over herself and I grasp her elbow before she crashes headlong onto the floor. I catch her up against me, but only for a moment. I turn her swiftly, pushing her back against the closed entry. My fingers grip her upper arms. At last understanding this is not some sort of kinky foreplay, her feet start to kick at me. I trap her legs between mine before she can do any severe damage.

"You have been lying to me, Hermione!" I roar angrily in her face, my grip on her tightening. "_Only_ me! Why is that?"

Her eyes widen. She still seems confused and that infuriates me even more. She whimpers and I snarl at her.

"I know _you_ are the Slytherin heir!" I seethe, menace lacing my words.

Her mouth forms into a silent O, her large eyes now comprehending my fury. She loses her fight. I let her feet drop to the floor. She sags and I ignore the desire to pull her against me. I keep her at arm's length, pushing her upright against the classroom door.

"You have known who you are and where you came from since I found you in the library back in September! Why did I only find out the truth about you _last nigh_t?" I growl my disapproval through gritted teeth. "How was it that the others knew while I, whom you have spent a far longer time with this term, had no inkling? How does Ron know? And Snape? And Dumbledore? Have you told Potter as well?" Spittle flies from my mouth as I bite out this last name.

She looks even more confused and scared than ever. Truth is, I, too, am a bit frightened by this uncontrollable rage, but I cannot seem to stop myself from behaving with such impassioned fury. She remains silent, tears well up in her dark brown eyes. I begin to shake her, intent on loosening her tongue and allowing myself to give way to some of my previously pent-up frustration. She braces herself by placing her hands on my chest. Her fingers grip my robe and I recall another time, a sweeter time, when I welcomed this touch from her. My grip again tightens around her arms as I try to wipe the memory of our most delectable moment together from my resistant mind.

I know my reaction to the truth about her is irrational. With a mere mention of her Slytherin legacy, my parents would heartily approve of my infatuation with Hermione, but this is not my primary concern. I simply cannot make myself listen to my own internal and desperate call for calm.

"Stop it! Stop it! Draco! You're hurting me!" she cries and the sound of her pleas has me instantly dropping my hands to my sides. Somewhere in my head I realize she has no wand for protection and she is much smaller than me. She is quivering and her crying has dissolved into soft mewls. I do so desperately want to reach out and comfort her, but I don't know how. I am on the brink, too. And as if sensing a change in my roiling emotions, she turns to take measure of me. She sniffs daintily, pulling herself together enough to begin coaxing me back from where I teeter on the edge of reason.

"Draco," she says soothingly. "Please, Draco. Calm down. Let me explain."

Her hands reach for me, but I brush her aside. Suddenly exhausted, I turn to discover our setting for this melodrama is Binn's classroom. I wearily take the nearest seat and drop my elbows to my knees. I shove my fingers in my hair, avoiding her eyes. It would be too easy to search for her truth now.

"Please, let me explain," she whispers. She sinks to her knees in front of me in complete supplication. Her face looks up at me beseechingly, her fingers knit together as if in prayer. "I only told Ron, Draco! I swear it. I made him promise not to tell another soul. Not that he agreed. I only told him because ..."

I shut my eyes, not wanting to know if she still cares for him more than she does me. Before befriending Ron, I had been lightly curious about the unbelievable attraction she had for him. After spending time with the redhead, I know now that he is an honorable bloke, endearing even. I can understand why she cares so deeply for him, but this knowledge does nothing to keep the uncomfortable jealousy at bay.

"... because?" I whip my glare back in her direction. She shrinks under my scrutiny.

"Somehow I knew he wouldn't judge me," she admits quietly. "I suppose I've always known that no matter what, Ron will love me despite my ... blood."

I wince. I do not want to think of this. I _cannot_. It rips me apart to know she trusts him more. I ache with the knowledge that I have given her precious little to allow her to trust me with the truth of her blood status. Her words reopen old wounds because I know that Weasley is growing into a far more respectable man for her than I. And though she kept me from her truths and caused me this unwanted coil of confusing emotions, I know deep down Hermione has a heart of gold. She is still good personified and she deserves someone who is her equal in at least _that_.

"Admit that you have been lying to me from the very start," I sneer acidly, not sure if I want to keep her for myself or send her flying back into Weasley's arms. At least that would eliminate Potter. "Only if you can do that, then can you begin beating your lengthy path back to my favor!" I add decidedly.

"That's rich, Malfoy, coming from you!" she retorts angrily, finished at last with her cowering. "You lie like a rug and you do it so smoothly that no one is ever the wiser. I don't think _you_ even know when you are lying! How dare you accuse me of dishonesty when you wear the crown for performing such treachery?"

I smile ruefully at her, pleased that she decided to fight, only because I know now how to disarm her.

"Since the night I told you of the prophecy I have been completely honest with you," I spar with dangerous softness. My voice masks my anger and despair. My mind rakes through all of our previous altercations and I come to a startling realization. "In fact, Hermione, I have _never_ lied to you. I may have been cruel and insufferable, a downright ... _miscreant_, I believe you once called me, but I have not actively lied to you. And if I kept you from the truth, it was only to keep you safe, as I vowed to do ... _under oath_."

She stills at this. I can almost see the wheels whirring in her head. I watch her curiously, her intelligent eyes searching mine. Her head bows and she acquiesces, defeated. "Draco, I _have_ been lying to you from the beginning, but for the same reasons that you had for keeping the secret of the cabinet and your tasks from me."

"I told the truth about _that_ to everyone in Dumbledore's office!" I bark angrily. "Yet, you did not bother to reveal the truth about who you are, even then! You only told Ron the truth!"

"Yes! I admitted to that already!"

"You trusted _him_ with the truth," I complain loudly again. Somehow this burned me up inside more than the bulk of her deception. "And you didn't trust _me_, even after I trusted _you_."

"I had to keep the truth from you."

"Why?"

"Because as long as I didn't tell you, I could keep on lying to myself."

"That excuse is a tired one, Hermione," I seethe, rubbing at my temples.

"That might be so, but it's honest, Draco," she insists, her eyes dark and fathomless. "The truth of where I come from frightens me. It frightens me to death."

"You? _Afraid_ of the truth?" I query incredulously.

"I'm _not_ a true Gryffindor, remember? Maybe my Slytherin blood is manifesting itself in me this way," her empty tone gives me pause. "Draco, what if, no matter what I do to try to save Harry, I will end up helping Voldemort and hurting, maybe even killing, my best friend? What if I can't change the prophecy? What if _you_—"

Her hesitation causes a light to flash in my head. I turn to look at her with derision, recognizing now her line of thinking.

"—what if _I_ knew the truth of your role in the prophecy and I used this knowledge to undermine all of your pathetic attempts to save Potter?" I charge aggressively. "Is that it? You were worried that if you told me the truth that I'd use it to save my own hide and that of my parents? Is that what you were going to say, Granger? _Or whatever the bloody hell your name is now!_"

"No, Draco!"

But, the flicker in her eyes that she cannot hide claims otherwise. _She does not trust me. _

"No! You're wrong! I just knew that if I told you, you'd have to face that dreadful choice. I didn't want you to have to choose, me or them." Shrouding her face from me, she also admits softly, "I didn't want to know how easily you'd be able to discard your feelings for me when given the choice to save yourself or your parents."

"So instead you pretended martyrdom. You toyed with me, kept me up most nights with my worry for you and your possible insanity!" I accuse hotly. "You hid the truth of who you are from me, Hermione, and by doing that, you robbed me of my ability to choose."

"I was afraid you weren't yet able to love me enough to help me fight against a Lord you'd been bred to serve. And honestly, I still don't think you care enough for me and this cause to truly stand by me," she stubbornly admits. "I don't judge you for this, Draco. I've come to simply accept the truth of your position.

"How could I ask you to willingly join me in my fate to save Harry?" she continues, proceeding in the tone of one of her know-it-all lectures. "There's no love lost between the two of you. Why would I tell you about what I am, knowing of your past and what you'd once accepted as your future? I knew the choice was too much of a burden to place on you."

I scoff at her audacity to feed me such drivel. "And yet, you were fine with me being there to present you to the Dark Lord."

She narrows her gaze as I sneer Voldemort's self-proclaimed title, one Snape forces me to use when referencing the maniacal half-blood.

"I didn't expect you to do anything more than confirm my identity as the female Slytherin heir," she points out.

I wait for her to continue, because it seems like she might have more to say.

"The truth and bottom line is," she sighs almost shamefully, "...it's that I didn't want to lose you, Draco. I was afraid you wouldn't or couldn't choose _me _if I told you the truth. At least this way you could elect to be only a small part of the plan, or not, without the added burden of knowing my fate."

I stare at her, speechless.

Too spent to even shake my head, I get up to go to the door. I feel her gaze bore into my back. As I grasp the handle, I hear her cry out, insisting I stay and listen to her.

"But, Draco,_ I love you_!" Her words fly from her mouth to find a home in my battered heart. I receive this token from her with immense gratitude, but I otherwise firmly close myself off from her other appeals. Shutting my eyes, I place my forehead on the hard wooden door for a moment. In that stolen instant, my mind at last clears. I turn to her again and from my place on the threshold I speak the truth as I see it.

"I imagine you do, Hermione," I say coolly, "but the love you claim tonight is a selfish one. You want to grasp onto this one-sided love you have for me, but you are not willing to allow me the freedom to return it. Very Slytherin of you, actually, I would offer you my congratulations, but ..."

I can hear her crying openly now, yet I brutally continue. I know my words hurt me more than they could possibly hurt her.

"I am being honest with you, _Miss Muestilde_, and sometimes the truth hurts," as I speak, icy cold fingers grip my chest. Even I can almost see the growing chasm between the girl on the floor and me at the door. "I do not know how to feel about you any longer because tonight, Hermione, you have shown me that I truly do _not_ know _you_."

In the darkness I see she has turned away from me, huddled against the chair I had been slumped in, her face hidden in her arms.

"I regret that I cannot speak the words you want to hear from me after such a heart-felt declaration," I say more kindly, though the sentiment is laced with disappointment. "What I do know, Hermione, is regardless how strongly you might feel, you simply do not love me enough to trust that I will make a decision that would suit. You do not love me enough to respect the man I am trying to become. So, despite your attempts to keep me, now we lose each other. I suppose now we will never know how I would have fared had you trusted me enough to give me the choices I was due."

I hear her strangled sob as I make my way out the door.

_**

* * *

The Shrieking Shack  
**__Along with what seems like 99 bottles of misappropriated mead

* * *

_

"This is a bloody fantastic hideout, Red," I announce approvingly, my stride less than steady as I wander into the dilapidated room. "Why haven't you brought me here before? It's bloody fantastic!"

"You didn't give me a choice, Malfoy. I had to bring you here. You were going to sing the castle down with your shite-faced bellowing of that Christmas carol. What is wrong with you? My Silencio couldn't even hamper your terrible voice," Ron curses under his breath, hauling the crateful of mead into the room. The last time I'd asked him to join me for a stolen drink was after I witnessed Snape's Crucio of Hermione. Unlike then, Ron is still sober at the news that is driving me to drink. Though I watched him toss back just as much as me in the Room of Requirement, I notice the ginger-haired giant seems relatively unaffected by the buzz-inducing alcohol. "Bugger, Malfoy, how did you get your hands on all of this? All four houses could have a right party with the amount of mead you made me drag in."

I slump down on the filthy floor and reach for the bounty within the crate. With my mouth at the lip of my newly opened bottle, I absently pull Dumbledore's blasted cube from my pocket. Ron, still annoyingly attentive, notices my actions and blatantly stares at the object in my hand. I frown at it and then at him.

"What is it?" he asks, cocking his head curiously.

"An ickle safe... damn coded lock," I reply, my voice slurs. "Blasted thing is shut more tightly than the Lestrange vault at Gringotts."

"Give it here," Ron demands reaching for it. My levitation skills, seriously impaired from my drinking has me tossing the cube, muggle-style, to the Weasel.

"What have you got so far?"

"P-R-O-T-E-C-T, on the side with the W in the middle," I say punctiliously, my head clearing for a moment and then, thankfully, quickly fogging over again.

I watch him seek the side I described, his fingers working deftly despite his brawny hand. A sudden flash of light and a sweet sound flash throughout the cube and fill the room.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy," he gasps, nearly fumbling the cube in his shock at the jaw-slackening result of his letter-pushing. "Warn a bloke next time!"

I chuckle, ducking my head to nurse at the bottle of mead, comforting myself again for my inability to break Dumbledore's ridiculous locking spell.

"So, are you ever going to tell me why you're drinking yourself daft?" Ron inquires, turning the glowing cube round and round in his big freckled hands.

I laugh uncontrollably at his concern. Then, I turn to him. "Your best friend, that bushy brown-haired bint failed to have the decency to tell me the truth about her relations to the founder of my house and her blood status, Weasel," I snarl, taking another angry swig from the bottle in my hand. "She can damn well take her good intentions to P-R-O-T-E-C-T me and shove it down her pert little—"

"_Malfoy!_"

Even in my alcohol induced haze, I hear the clear warning in Ron's voice. I grumpily mutter the rest of my sentence under my breath.

"As to why we are here, Weasel, I have ... I have decided to throw myself a brilliant pity party with you as my sole guest," I declare almost imperiously, my drunken tongue-tripping taking away most of the regal the effect. "Count yourself among the blessed few who I can trust to see me so unMalfoy-esque."

The big redhead shakes his head at me. "Pathetic, Malfoy."

"Call me Draco. I would rather not hear my father's name right now," I force myself to enunciate this, purposefully staring at him, wondering exactly when I, too, discovered my trust in the Gryffindor before me. My thoughts splinter as does the image of his overly-concerned, freckled face. I choose to ignore the obvious worry I see in his blue gaze.

"It occurred to me," I say disjointedly, "right before I left her in that dark classroom last night ... that all I ever really wanted from Granger _... errr ... Muestielde ... hmmmm ... Herm-whatever the bloody hell her name is now! _All I ever really wanted from the daft bint was a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T."

"Hermione's not a daft bint, Draco," Ron admonishes, absently fondling the glowing cube as he listens to my rambling. "R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Funny, that's a muggle song Harry sings sometimes in the shower."

"Too much bloody information, Weasel," I moan, cradling my head.

I watch him play with the cube. His fingers touch some unknown sequence of letters and I squint to see what he is doing from across the room.

"What are you doing, Weasley?"

"It's _Ron_, Draco," he replies, his fingers still moving carefully, his mouth sounding out letters. "If you're going to make me call you by your first name, you're bloody well going to follow suit."

Suddenly another blinding light emits from the cube in his hands. Ron calls out in surprise. The sound of sweet music, this time several notes longer, fills the air between us. My mouth falls open. Ron unlocked another side!

_He unlocked another side!_

"Ron! The center letter! What's the center letter?"

The light that bathes the room offers me sobriety as a sudden and welcome gift. I jump to my feet and launch myself at Red and the blasted cube.

"Y" he breathes.

"Because I need to know!" I shout exasperatedly, "Otherwise I'll forget the side your word unlocks!"

"No, Draco, the _letter Y_ is in the middle!" he laughs, then laughs some more, mirthful at his unintended joke.

"Your word, Ron?" I grouch impatiently.

"R-E-S-P-E-C-T, of course," he replies matter-of-factly.

_Of course, now, why had I not thought of that?_


	29. Brown Paper Packages

**_POV: Draco_**

* * *

I rub the sleep from my eyes and try not to stumble out of bed.

_Why did I forget to take the bloody storage box from Dumbledore's office? I wonder if it is it too late for me to claim it?_

For the third time tonight, and countless other similar occurrences last night, strange noises and an eerie light pours from my trunk at the foot of my bed. Had it not been for my renewed insomnia, I would have missed the show. Once I cracked the lid open, muffled curses also spilled out. I quickly look to my roommates who thankfully sleep like the dead. I firm my shoulders and work to keep the extreme annoyance out of my voice and off my face. I wonder idly what it was about this man than made me even bother. I peer into the trunk and into the face of Hermione's grandfather.

"Mr. Muestildae, I have told you, Sir. You have to stop doing this." I whisper my reprimand to the inside of my trunk.

"And I told you, Rugrat, that I need to see my granddaughter."

"That's impossible," I say through clenched teeth, moving my face from his view. "We aren't on speaking terms."

"Well, you'd better fix that, lad. Dumbledore's told me that she needs the likes of you to help her."

"I no longer wish to help her," I seethe. "I am proceeding with Professor Dumbledore's plan solely to save my family and your granddaughter, _Emmanuelle_," I emphasize.

As the words hit the air, I know no greater lies have ever been spoken. I turn to face the portrait, "It is over, Sir. The girl I know as Hermione Granger will no longer speak to me, and I no longer wish to speak to her."

"This is ridiculous. I don't care what your wishes are! Emmanuelle needs to be saved, yes, but you are also instrumental in keeping Hermione alive! I have only you and that red-headed fellow to do the saving! You cannot choose between the girls!"

I watch him pace in his portrait, his arms thrown up in the air as he continues his loud and rambling rant. Granger_-I've decided she will always be Granger_-must have inherited his tendency to prattle and gain exasperation along the way.

I smile ruefully.

"... You, boy, are as stubborn as the day is long. Just because she kept her true heritage a secret does not warrant such reprimand from the likes of you!"

I feel my hackles rise as the decibel level of his voice increases. I peer at the darkened hulks of my roommates who are shifting in their beds. Quickly, I gather up my Slytherin scarf and wrap it around the portrait. I murmur words to soothe the aged wizard as I hear he is upset at my attempts to silence him. Obviously, I need to speak to the infernal man, but being caught doing so on the floor of my shared room may cause me increasing problems with my already suspicious housemates.

I gather the bundle and climb back into my bed. I slide the curtains of the four-poster shut and with my wand, cast an _Imperturbatum__**! **_before unwrapping the scarf from the painting and set it against the foot board.

"How dare you!" he shouts, arms akimbo. I stifle a smile that threatens to upturn my lips as I view his perfect imitation of an outraged Granger.

"My apologies, Mr. Muestildae, I would rather not have my roommates privy to the conversation you were about to begin with me. We are quite out of range of their hearing now. Please, proceed."

I wave a hand at him as I lean back into my pillow and stare at the man who calms considerably after hearing my reasonable apology. I watch him settle himself into the plush armchair by the fire in the portrait.

"I see. In any case, Boy..."

"_Draco_, Sir. Call me _Draco_."

"As in the constellation?"

I nod.

"My wife rather liked calling me Leo."

"As in the constellation," I note without sarcasm.

The man nods. "She used to say that I exhibited the typical characteristics of one born under the sign: confident, ambitious, generous, loyal and encouraging; but that my failings were equally notable: pretentious, domineering, melodramatic, stubborn and vain."

He stops and looks at me with his piercing dark eyes. "I daresay, young man, perhaps we do have some things in common after all."

I shift uncomfortably since I was thinking the same as he voiced the traits his wife ascribed to him.

"Albus told me some of your history, Draco. Not much, but enough for me to have concerns about your dedication to the protection of my granddaughter—_both_ of them. He believes there is enough good in you to withstand the temptation offered to you by Voldemort. I had been doubtful of Albus's assertions, until I saw a flash of courage the other night when you asked of a plan. I have since been impressed with your strategic planning skills."

I turn away, my jaws working. Of all the things anyone has ever said to me, never once has anyone called me _courageous_. It comes as somewhat of a shock to find that this stranger has somehow discovered in me the one trait I thought never to possess.

"You do realize that it was Hermione's right. She did not have to tell you, Draco. You were not entitled to know. Now, don't look at me as though I've struck you, lad. I saw the truth in your face the other night. You were hurt that she had not confided in you and felt even worse that she'd felt kinship enough with your ginger-haired friend to share the news with him. "

I avert my gaze from the frame. My breath is short as I try to take in the increasingly stifling air in the rapidly confining space of my curtained four-poster. I dislike his ability to see things in me that I would rather stay hidden.

"Can you blame her, Draco? Raised the way you were, what if you received news that you were Muggleborn? That as an infant, only hours old, your parents had given you away to another family and replaced you with another because of what you were fated to become? What if you discovered you were related to Godric Gryffindor and your fate required that you turn on all the people you care about? Perhaps even destined to kill one you love?"

"I _love_ no one." The words rip out of me, a heated denial I had not seen coming. I flinch thinking about his words, but his expression compels me to keep eye contact.

The man in the painting regards me quietly. He moves so his face is all I see, brown eyes, so familiar in their regard of me that it makes me want to weep.

"I find that difficult to believe, son."

I stiffen, reigning in my violent desire to swipe the frame and his blasted image to the floor and out of sight. When I provide him no response, I hear him ask the question that has haunted me since I closed the door on her silently sobbing form in the darkened classroom.

"The only question left, Draco, is how badly did you hurt Hermione when you told her you knew the truth?"

_

* * *

**Next Morning**  
__The Great Hall

* * *

_

An unfamiliar owl, black and beautiful, dropped a package in front of my morning meal, narrowly missing my glass of pumpkin juice. The Slytherin table had emptied only minutes before when Snape swept himself off the faculty dais.

I am still smarting from yesterday's private lesson and decide to take my time traipsing to class as a means of sending my godfather a clear but silent message of displeasure at his training methods for me... _and_ _Ron_. It was all getting a bit old and the fact that the Weasel was proving more proficient in his role was simply too difficult to stomach.

I pluck up the package. It fits in the palm of my hand. I glance up and see the trio across the Great Hall, taking notice of how small she looks. She plays with her food, something she hadn't done since before the Yule. The dark smudges under her eyes are also making a return appearance. I find myself worried for her and push those concerns away with an annoyed scowl.

Sighing, I turn to unwrap the letter that accompanies the small bundle. The handwriting is in tight script. I can almost feel the agitation that forced the quilling of this missive.

_Draco,_

_This package is for Hermione. You must give it to her. It is a matter of grave importance, and you must do this before noon today. It must be you who delivers this bundle to her and you must tell her that it came from me. If you do not do as I wish, Draco, I will send a Howler and I do not care who knows about her, you, the lot of it. _

_As I've no doubt you've already surmised, I am most desperate in my desire to get to know my granddaughter before you return to your Manor. Hermione has been kept from my family for far too long. I will not allow your mulish pride to be all that stands between us._

— _Leo Muestildae_

The old codger should be the one blood-related to Slytherin, I think bitterly, weighing the package in my hand. I wonder if hurling it at the Gryffindor table while yelling that a stupid owl accidentally sent a package from her grandfather to me as I storm out of the room would meet the old man's approval.

_Not bloody likely._

With a fortifying intake of breath, I rise and make my way to the still sitting threesome. The remaining Gryffindors along the long table quiet and turn to me with suspicion. I take some perverse pride in the disturbance I still manage to create when I move to their side of the hall. Apparently, Granger and Weasley can rival the best of Slytherin secret keepers.

"Granger," I sneer her name and I watch her lips tighten at my acerbic tone. "It would appear there are a few loose ends left for us to take care of regarding our task for Snape. I'd like to take care if it before lunch, after Arithmancy, if you can manage the time."

I watch Potter's hand move to cover hers. His show of silent support reminds me that while I was in a drunken stupor, Ron revealed that Potter, too, had not been told of Hermione's secrets. I wonder if the future savior of the wizarding world would be so keen on touching her if he knew the truth.

_Doubtful. _

Regardless, the sickening reality is that Potter sits beside her, not I, and the sight of his hand on hers causes bile to rise in my throat. I sneer at the back of his dark head. I ache to snatch her hand away from his and knock him flat for daring to touch her. A flash of warning in Weasley's eyes keeps me from making good on my impulse.

"Alone," I add tightly, before either one of her ever-present footmen offers her his company.

"What is it that you have to tell her that you can't tell her now?" Potter bites out, not bothering to look at me, his eyes watching her. Her eyes rest on Weasley.

"It is nothing that would warrant me being a guinea pig to another one of your dark curses, Potter," my soft snarl has his spine stiffening. The ensuing silence and Potter's extreme discomfort brings me a great deal of wicked pleasure.

"After Arithmancy, Granger. You know where."

With that, I turn on my heel, the small package in my pocket, clutched in my grip.

_

* * *

**POV: Hermione**

* * *

_

He is lying on the green velvet chaise. My heart aches at the familiarity of the setting, but instead of staring into a crackling fire, he is staring at a wooden cube suspended above him, spinning and spinning. He points his wand at it like a conductor coaxing an orchestra to play a lazy melody.

I clear my throat to let him know I've entered the room. I watch him go still for a moment before he plucks the cube from the air and stuffs it into his robe, then he pulls himself to a rigid sitting position. I sense he dislikes looking up at me, so he moves to standing. Now I am forced to tip my chin up to view him. He doesn't reveal any emotion and this frightens me. It seems he's retreated once again, embracing his timeworn defense mechanism of playing the cold bastard he once was. It pains me to know that I am the one who pushed him to it.

"Draco—"

"Do not speak, Granger."

His command is quiet and steely, too much like the first time he made his aristocratic request of me in the bowels of the library.

_A lifetime ago_.

His tone dissuades me from arguing. I gulp and nod.

"I am being forced to speak to you," he explains, disdain lacing his every word. I dare to look into his face as he addresses me. His eyes rest on something above my left shoulder and I itch to turn and see what it is he's staring at so intently. Instead, I watch him reach into his pocket. I fully expect to see the floating cube again. "I received something by owl post this morning that I was ordered to personally deliver to you. It is from your grandfather."

"That can't be," I whisper, shocked. How did he know about my love for my late grandfather? My insides clench at the Slytherin's cruelty. I'd expected something like this, but I'd somehow forgotten how _delightful_ it felt to be on the receiving end of his poisonous tongue.

_What an idiot I am for offering my heart to this cold-hearted snake._

I promise myself that I will not cry in front of him again.

"Don't you dare use my family to try to hurt me, Draco. My grandfather has been dead for nearly three years," I say in a voice that thankfully doesn't shake. I watch his jaw clench at my continued use of his name. It hasn't escaped me that he no longer uses mine. "My grandfather was a good man. He suffered terribly because of his cancer and it was horrible watching him die. My grandfather was once so strong—" my voice falters at the memory of his gnarled fingers holding onto mine as he told me of his love and made his final goodbyes.

That had not been the first time I'd wondered what good being magical was if I couldn't use my unnatural power to save the people I loved.

I turn away from the Slytherin and stride toward the red chair he thought to conjure up along with the rest of the parlour room from Christmas.

"Why are you doing this to me, Draco?" I ask in a pained whimper. "You know I didn't mean to hurt you by keeping my blood status a secret. Why must you punish me more than I am already punishing myself?"

I see the furrowing of his brow before he speaks again. As he struggles with words, I distract myself by running my hand up and down one of the chair's overstuffed arms. The weight of his Christmas gift still lies foolishly at my neck. I want to rip it off, but I haven't found the strength to do this yet.

"You have a _living_ grandfather, Granger," he clarifies in a clipped voice, "a Mr. Leo Muestildae." I know he doesn't know what to do with my accusation because he's shifting on his feet. It's not like him to fidget. "In any case, he wanted me to give you _this_."

I have a crazy thought that this special space he'd created in the Room of Requirement was just for the sole purpose of giving girls gifts. I shake my head at the preposterous idea but can't help hold onto the disturbing, lingering thought.

I stare at his outstretched hand and the small package lying on his palm. The vision reminds me of the other, far lovelier time. Although I had been mortified at myself for not thinking of Draco at Christmas, I'd been more than willing to accept his beautiful gift and I certainly had not been filled with a primal fear to bolt out the door.

"What is it?" I ask, keeping still, as if the package might strike me should I make any sudden movements.

He lets out a quiet huff and his frosty gaze hardens. I try not to flinch at the coldness I see there while mentally kicking myself for the impulsive response that has the both of us tumbling into a bittersweet memory.

He none too gently tosses the small brown-paper package at me and smirks as I make a fumbling catch.

"Open it," his voice is gruff. "I have done what is required of me. I am leaving."

"Stay, Draco."

I swing my eyes to the source of the voice. _It certainly isn't mine_. I find myself glaring at a frowning man in a painting set on a shelf next to the door.

Who was this man to dictate whether the Ferret stayed or not? I don't _need_ Malfoy, even though just a minute ago I thought I did. Why was this man making demands?

As if reading my mind, the man in the picture says, "Miss Granger—"

I hear a rude snorting from the wizard in the room at my surname and force myself not to confront the vile git, focusing my full attention on the man in the picture frame.

"I am Leo Muestildae, your paternal grandfather."

I gasp, and he stops, allowing me to absorb the stunning information. When I am able to take in a calming breath, he continues. "I apologize, my dear, for the lack of ceremony for this first meeting."

I do not miss the incendiary glare he sends Malfoy.

"I regret that I cannot be at Hogwarts. There have been some recent extenuating circumstances that disallow me from being able to properly meet you in person. I hope I can make it up to you soon."

He smiles hopefully and I am aware of Malfoy's brooding presence behind me. I send the strange man a tremulous smile, wondering how on earth he found Malfoy, but decide to save my questions for later.

"Go, Draco. I don't care," I say turning to stare at the blond. Where this strength comes from, I don't know, but it had been absent since our late night row and I am grateful for its return.

His eyes flash and he balks at what I know he considers a command. I respond with words meant to inflict hurt.

"Just decide, Malfoy— in or out. I don't care which. _I don't need you_."

I watch Draco jerk against my mean-spirited sentiment.

_Good_.

I turn away from him to hide my satisfied evil smirk, fully expecting to hear the slamming of a door. When no such sound is forthcoming, I turn again to assess the situation.

Draco does not acknowledge me. He says nothing. Just to be contrary, he turns to sit on the chaise, his expression one of cold withdrawal. I feel a prickling at the back of my eyelids when he turns his face away from the sight of me.

_I don't love you anymore! Go away! _I want to scream, recognizing the falsity of the declaration even as I think it. I want to scream at him, to shout, to stomp on his foot, anything to get a stronger reaction from him.

_Why is he still here?_

I must have been staring at him for a long time.

"Open it, Granger." I notice his use of my adoptive surname. _Interesting. _The annoyance is clear in his gruff demand and it makes me want to do the exact opposite. The irony nearly escapes me.

Trembling, I examine the package. My annoyance at Draco, however, is not enough to overcome the morbid curiosity that has me slipping a finger under the flap of the paper. The wrappings fall open as if magically charmed to do so at my touch.

At the sight of the contents, I completely forget about Draco's presence and the portrait of my newly discovered grandfather. I gasp and fall back, distantly grateful that the red chair is there to catch me.

"Hello, Hermione."

_My God, she looks just like me._

_

* * *

**POV: Draco**

* * *

_

I watch the color leech from her face. She falls into the chair that somehow accompanied my chaise when I wished for this room. Her eyes glimmer with overwhelming emotion and I want to go to her, but the feeling I have of being an intruder keeps me seated as I witness the scene unfold.

"You hold your grandmother in your hand, child," Leo's baritone calls out from the shelf I'd perched his frame on. Next to his picture is the orb containing Granger's blasted prophecy. The puzzle box remains in my pocket, a heavy weight.

"I never knew my grandmama," Granger's voice is a whisper and a whimper all at once.

"Well, you'll get to know me now, my darling girl," said a light, jubilant voice. "Thank you, young man, for seeing me to my granddaughter."

I grunt miserably, then belatedly remember my manners.

"It was an honor, Mrs. Muestildae," I reply more appropriately.

I watch her husband nod approvingly at me before he vanishes from his frame. From the sound of surprise from Granger's corner, I surmise that Leo's forced himself into the small miniature she holds in her hand.

"Your grandmother is no longer with us, Hermione," Mr. Muestildae explains, "but this portrait keeps her very close indeed. She promised herself long ago that she would protect you at all costs. On the day of her death she passed that promise onto me and at last told me of the prophecy that concerns you—"

I glance over at the orb and find Leo back in his frame pointing at it.

"There is much for you to know. The most important is that this prophecy is the reason for the secret switching of you and Emmanuelle. And now she is in—."

I hear a swift intake of breath and realize that the sound comes from me. I stand up and race toward Granger. Without thinking, I snatch the miniature portrait from her hand and curl my fist around it. Then I rush toward the portrait on the shelf, grab it and toss it under the corner of the oriental rug.

"No! Draco!" Granger's swift protest and her hand on my arm nearly causes me to drop the small painting. I yank my arm out of her grip and turn away from her. With my free hand I hold her off from going to the frame near my feet and hold the miniature in my hand above her head. While she struggles against me, I pull the pocket portrait back to my face and glare into the small picture frame. I expect to see a cowering elderly woman but am instead confronted with two pairs of brown eyes, as angry as my own.

"Do not do this," I seethe into the frame, my words meant for the man who had returned to his wife's side. All the while, Granger is still screeching at me to "give it back."

"Truth, Draco. Isn't that what you wanted? What you expected of her? She needs to know," the man's voice is gruff, the woman's mouth a tight line of disapproval. "And, you will do what is honorable."

"I do not need to live up to your expectations," I bite out furiously. My arm is tiring from holding a surprisingly strong, enraged Granger at bay.

"You are correct," Granger's grandfather replies more calmly, "but I do believe you will want to live up to your own."

I blink.

"Give us back to her, Draco," he says more urgently. "She needs us—_all_ of us."

I shake my head. _We are not ready. _I begin to say this only to be stopped short by her grandfather's fathomless dark eyes.

"My dear boy, it's begun."

* * *

"What do you mean?" Her voice is a strangled gasp. Granger's white knuckled grip on the small portrait reveals her terror. "How can _He_ have Emmanuelle? She's... she's—"

I knew Granger should not have been told. Who knows what she will do now? She always acts on emotion and now she thinks she is at fault. I shake my head bitterly. My lips tighten into a scowl. I watch her sink into her infernal silent, shaky sobbing. I can't stand the sight of it.

"Granger," I growl, not really knowing what I am going to say.

Her big, wet, outraged eyes turn on me. Her anger hits me before her shouting does.

"You knew?" she accuses hotly, her hair whipping around her. Electricity sparks off the ends in her heightened state. "YOU KNEW? And you didn't tell me? You knew and you've done nothing! It's been nearly _three_ days! THREE DAYS, DRACO!"

She is standing now, her face contorted in her disbelief and horror. One accusing finger points at me, her other hand is clenched around the small picture frame; her grandfather's portrait is still under the rug.

"How dare you judge me for keeping something private and, by comparison, so trivial as my blood status from you... when you... when YOU didn't bother to tell me something THIS important!"

Her screeching has me wincing. "She could be DEAD, DRACO! DEAD! And you've done nothing! NOTHING! My God, Draco! She's my parents' DAUGHTER!"

At her last ranting declaration, I watch the shock register in her deep brown gaze. I see the realization of the fact hit her at last, and like a true Slytherin her first instinct is to lash out when faced with fear.

_At least, I understand this._

"YOU VILE, LOATHESOME, EVIL GIT! SHE'S MY PARENTS' DAU—" I stand to grab her when I see her begin to sway alarmingly. "She's my parent's... _daughter_." She pounds her fists against me with each word as she starts to shriek her frustration. Her wailing starts as soon as my fingers close around her shoulder.

"Draco, she's... my...MY... parent's... _dau—daughter_."

I catch her fists in my free hand and I hold them against my heart. She wilts, dropping her forehead onto my shoulder. Already I can feel the wetness of her tears against my neck.

"How could you _not_, Draco?" she cries brokenly. "How could you not tell me?"

She is beginning to hiccup now.

"... Why didn't you tell me, Draco? She's... my... parent's _daughter.._. MY... parent's _daughter_. Their _daughter_... and... I'm _not... I'm not._"

I do not know what to do with a wailing, hysterical female. It hurts me to watch her fall apart this way. I want to gather her in a tight, comforting embrace but I cannot. I do not know how and, far worse, I fear that to do so might not make much of a difference at all.

"_Granger,_" I start to say after a century of her sobbing onto my shoulder.

At my voice I feel her stiffen under my hands. Her head snaps up, nearly catching me under the chin.

"No! I'm not! For once, I AM NOT GRANGER!" she screams up into my face, her tears streaming down her outraged face.

She yanks herself away from me. Her emotions switch from despair to fury in a blink. I can barely catch up. She moves rapidly to the opposite side of the room.

"Don't you see, Draco? I AM the girl in the prophecy! There is a _reason_ for all of this! I can accept it now. I AM a Slytherin. If I wasn't, I couldn't do what I have to do. "

"What?" I whirl around to face her and find she is already at the door. "Where do you think you are you going?" I yell.

"I don't have to answer to you, Draco," she retorts. I am alarmed by the unnatural glow in her eyes. "And, you shouldn't have to ask. I'm going to go save Emmanuelle, of course."

I stare stunned at the door slamming behind her.

* * *

"HERMIONE!" I bellow at her retreating back from the opening of the Room of Requirement. "HERMIONE! HERMIONE! GET BACK HERE!"

"FERRET!"

Next, all I see is the color red rushing at me.

"Oi, Malfoy! Shut it! SHUT IT!" I feel Weasley's gigantic hand clamp over my mouth as he tackles me and I fall back into the room.

_Oomph!_

"Merlin, Draco! What the hell are you doing? SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE!"

I shove off his hand as I struggle to free myself of his bulk.

"Get off, Weasel! Get off!" I'm pushing and kicking, trying to wrestle the big oaf off of me so I can go after her. Unfortunately, he's bigger and he's been to Quidditch practice all season.

"Ge..erroff, Weasel!" I gnash, trying to sink my teeth into his arm to rid myself of his weight.

"DRACO!"

The rough command that is my name does not come from Ron. The outraged roar, however, halts Ron's movement because it is accompanied by a whole lot of clatter and white light shooting out from under the corner of the oriental rug.

"You shoved him under a rug?" Ron asks incredulously, his blue-eyed glare bores into me. His whole weight still pins me to the floor. "You put his portrait _under_ a dirty, dusty rug? That's Hermione's grandfather, Malfoy!"

I let out an exasperated breath and find myself without breath in my lungs.

_Merlin, Weasley is heavy! _

I shove against his massive chest and he rolls off to crawl toward the light. He flips back the rug to find an extremely peeved Leo Muestildae trying to shoot hexes at us.

_Thank Merlin it does not work that way! I would be dead nine ways to Sunday if it were up to the wizard in the portrait._

"Where's Hermione?" Leo bellows between firing off useless curses at Ron and me.

"She's gone off to save Emmanuelle, Sir." I reply coldly, biting back the _I told you so_ as I dust myself off. My hands are shaking. To hide my nerves, I turn to grab the orb and stuff it into my trouser pockets which I'd magicked with an enlarging charm to hold both the orb, the cube, and the frame at the same time without appearing as though I'd grown another limb.

_Handy, that._

"Well?" the gruff voice calls me to attention.

"Sir?"

"Why are you two still standing here?" he shouts. "Go tell that Professor Snape of yours that you're moving ahead with the plan and then go follow her!"

Ron's round-eyed gaze meets mine.

Fear.

_Indeed._

"For Merlin's sake, lads! Are you wizards or not? GO! NOW!"

This reprimand seems to shake Ron out of his shocked horror. The redhead smiles a strange, nostalgic smile then bends to pick up the man's portrait. Once it is secured in his grip, he grabs my arm to drag me out of the room.

"Are you sure she is headed for the Manor?" I ask as I try to match Ron's running stride.

"She's Hermione. Of course, she'll go there first," he says, stealing a glance around to make sure the coast is clear.

He turns left and motions for me to follow.

"How?"

He makes his way down a back stairway. We turn a corner, and I hope with everything in me that all the Slytherin upperclassmen are in the dungeons so they do not see me racing down the halls with the Weasel.

"Hogsmeade, Draco. By Floo, just like Snape said you and I were going to get to your Manor. Except not from his office, from Hogsmeade. There are working Floos there, remember? That is unless you can disapparate. "

"I wasn't the one who failed my Apparition License Exam, Weasel," I criticize because I need to release some of my heart-clenching fear with a bit of my old nastiness. "I might also remind you that it is nighttime, Weasley. We planned for daylight."

"So, what of it, Malfoy? Night is the best time to use Hogwart's secret passageways. Hermione'll want to get to the Three Broomsticks. We all know the Floo there works for sure."

"She can't get into the Manor without me," I wheeze. My chest is aching from our mad dash and my lack of exercise since I had been absent from Quidditch practice most of the season thanks to Potter's fine curse.

"Let's hope she remembers your warning about the wards before she does something stupid like get into the Floo Network thinking she can storm the Malfoy compound."

I frown, trying to remember that we're talking about Granger. If there is one thing that she is not, it is stupid.

"Are you ready, Weasley?" I ask, concerned and trying to keep up with his long stride.

"To act like an insufferable, arrogant git?" he asks with an insolent grin.

"Yes," I huff. "Your life might depend on it."

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be, Malfoy. Besides, I've had the best teacher."

We are still racing side by side and he sends me one of his goofy smiles.

"Do not smile, you ignorant prat. I do _not_ smile. Remember?"

He nods, duly reprimanded and shoots me an exaggerated scowl. I try not to laugh.

So, it has come to _this_, I think bitterly. My unexplainable and inappropriate worry for Gryffindor's legendary bookworm has me laughing in the darkened corridors at her best friend's jokes. I roll my eyes at my supreme idiocy. For what must be the thousandth time, I wonder again if it would have been better to have simply kept Granger, Snape, and the lot of them out of this madness.

"Let's grab our brooms," he says, still surprisingly not out of breath. "We'll be faster than her since she's on foot. Besides, Hermione's mad and might not be thinking very clearly. She might get lost."

"She is one of the most single-minded, stubborn witches I know," I pronounce, running an aggravated hand across my perspiring brow as I manage to keep his steady pace._ Damn her to bloody hell!_ "She knows what she wants, Weasley, and she means to do it no matter the cost to her own person."

He takes in a deep, ragged breath, knowing I speak the truth. He turns to view me as he runs. His eyes reflect back to me the worried fear I feel gripping my entire body.

"Five minutes, Malfoy. I'll meet you in the Astronomy Tower. We'll fly from there. Once we get into Hogsmeade, we'll do just as Snape instructed us. Just like we planned."

I look at him, hoping that he practiced as much as he claimed. I nod grimly. I would never admit it aloud, but I would hate to have something happen to the ginger-haired git because of the disaster that is my life.

"Did you get the correct broom, Weasley?" I ask harshly, "Do you have everything of which I equipped you?"

"Only the best for a Malfoy," he replies with an arrogant snarl that would have made my father proud. "You will let Snape know, then?" he asks haughtily, turning to stare down his nose at me before making another sharp turn that I do not follow.

Without warning, my lips upturn in a pleased smile. I nod, relieved to see and hear his practiced reply.

_Maybe the plan does have the slightest chance of actually working_.

"Five minutes, then," I say, tossing the words at him.

We give each other one last look of acknowledgment before racing in opposite directions toward our respective dormitories. I know he will be in the tower more quickly than I despite having more need for preparation time.

Even though my lungs burn, I make a dash toward Snape's office.

I just hope we are as ready as Ron thinks we are.


	30. Stubborn Females

**POV: Ron  


* * *

**

The pure silver concoction that coats my tongue is all at once spicy and sweet. It leaves a peculiar icy hotness behind as it slides down my throat, leaving a delicious aftertaste. Of course it _would_ look like the icy cousin of Harry's own unique polyjuice brew.

_Essence of Malfoy. _

Who knew Snape's new and improved potion wouldn't taste like death considering the owner of the potion's last essential ingredient? Thank goodness it doesn't look like Crabbe's polyjuice. I s_c_owl at _that_ distasteful memory.

_Draco's doppelganger. That's me._

It's a playact I've been perfecting since Snape called me down to his office for months— since the night after Draco revealed all in Dumbledore's office. Thank Merlin, I've been imitating, mimicking, and mocking Malfoy's arrogant, princely self for nearly six years after the tosser insulted me during that first ride on the Hogwarts Express. If I hadn't first hated the prize-winning prat, all of this would be near impossible. Oh, and as an added perk, my vocabulary has vastly improved, which might explain my higher scores this term.

Unfortunately, the Ferret didn't see any immediate benefits when he found out what I'd been doing and how Snape had been training me. The git stopped speaking to us, only to come to his senses after he'd been hexed by Harry. Faced with his mortality, he at last realized the brilliance of being able to infiltrate the large Manor with a look-a-like in tow, if only for the use of confusing the Death Eaters and to have another trusted person available to get Hermione safely out should things get too dangerous. Once I passed muster, Draco's own mother wouldn't be able to tell the difference between her real son and me.

This wasn't enough, however, because Malfoy demanded he be trained to play the role of _me,_ Ron Weasley. It was only fair, he'd argued, considering what I'd already seen of him under his clothes. Disturbing, that.

When you looked at it from his shoes, Draco's request seemed fair and it was difficult to argue against it, especially since he knew my backup plan to keep Hermione safe had been to leave with her and Harry on a search for horcruxes. Draco wanted _in_ on being Ronald Weasley in _that_ case ... _at least he did at the time_. Once the Slytherin lowered himself to finally master being me, even Harry would be fooled, but Draco was having a bit of trouble with being anything like me-failing miserably, actually-which made him even more resentful of Snape.

But now, this ability to identity-switch shows the greatness of Snape's plan, because I can go about rescuing Emmanuelle while Draco watches out for Hermione and her barmy self.

Regardless of my success with Snape, I haven't yet tried the adjusted polyjuice out of the professor's office, though I did manage once to fool some Gryffindor blokes out on the quidditch pitch for a few minutes. I delightfully recall slaughtering the house boor, McLaggen, with a mere look and a few well-rehearsed Malfoy lines. His gobsmacked face was priceless. Never had I realized the benefits Fred and George had until that very moment.

The mirror I'd brought along to check myself shows me my evil little smirk, the final touch to my complete transformation as the Slytherin prince. My own clothes hang loosely on my shoulders. Hurriedly, I slip out of my shirt and trousers and into Malfoy's clothes, trying not to examine my super-polyjuiced self too closely. I stop a moment to place a small vial in my pocket. All that's left is the adjustment of the vest and tie.

"The tie is all wrong."

I nearly jump out of my skin. I turn to glare at the real Draco Malfoy who is staring critically at me. "You have to be pristine when we arrive. When we find Hermione, we are going to have to let her in on the plan, like you meant to do in the first place."

I nod at his clipped, business-like tone. Standing still as he fusses, I try not rushing his reworking of the tie. Besides, I know we'll have at least twenty minutes on Hermione once we get on our Nimbus 2001s. The perk of being able to call one of those beauties my own is nearly worth all the botheration of _this._

"When you arrive at the Manor, you'll land directly in the Floo in my room. Ring for Gahtoo. The name sounds like _cake_ in _French_. He is my elf. He _has_ to tell you everything even if someone else has forbidden it. He will tell you the truth. Ask him if Emmanuelle is a visitor. Say _visitor_, not prisoner."

"Draco, I'm not an idiot!" I protest. He sends me a dubious look. I wonder if along with the hair some of the personality also gets transferred over. "We've gone over this thousands of times. When I find out where she is, I go to her and Floo her out. Back to Snape's office or Dumbledore's. I know. I get it."

"Try _imbecile_," he criticizes, "and act like you own the Manor, Weasel. Keep your nose in the air. Do not speak unless giving a command. Use complete words. Do not shorten them. Try not to be awed by the surroundings. Stay out of sight. If there are Death Eaters there, keep your gaze down and look scared."

"That won't be hard," I murmur, trying to stem my nervous quivering at the thought of having to face Voldemort and his minions. Wasn't Draco supposed to be Marked soon? The worst-cast scenarios start infiltrating my brain and I realize I have to stop them or I'll be paralyzed with fear. I force myself to turn to thoughts of Harry, the plan he told me about just yesterday, and Hermione's disturbing revelations of what a horcrux is. I think of my two best friends' bravery. Now it is my turn to swallow down my fear.

"Will not be difficult," Malfoy corrects, giving my tie one last yank.

"Look, Draco, we _have_ done the practice runs in the Room of Requirement," I remind him, not sure if I am comforting him or myself. "I know what your house looks like, for Merlin's sake. Every little nook and cranny, thanks to you and Snape. We've... _ugh!... we have_ run every possible scenario. I can follow orders and I know how to improvise. I will speak clearly and will not shorten my words, you prat. _Just trust me_."

I see something flash in his quicksilver gaze as I make my last request, and just as the look appears, it is instantly gone.

"Uncanny," he murmurs, smiling sardonically as he hands me a broom identical to his, smoothing my collar before patting my shoulder. "If you get in trouble, tap the charmed coin in your pocket three times and I will know which room I will have to go to so I can help. Otherwise, we will keep to the plan."

I nod, thinking of the galleons Hermione fashioned for the D.A. and again take a moment to thank Merlin for the Protean Charm.

"I never thought I would ever say this, Weasley, but you look quite dashing," Draco compliments with a rare, genuine smile, before turning to jump on his broom.

"You might think so, Ferret," I reply with a snarl and an eye roll, "but I feel like shite. It blows to be you."

I hear him laugh hollowly as he pushes off toward Hogsmeade. I mount my broom and follow in his wake.

**

* * *

POV: Draco

* * *

**

Our feet land soundlessly in the alley next to The Three Broomsticks. We both pull on a dark cap and store our brooms. My twin seems unhappy about leaving his Nimbus unattended. I shake my head at him and cast _Evanesco_ knowing we can retrieve them later.

I shove my hand in my pocket, fingering the mate of the flower pendant on Granger's neck. I pray she hasn't taken it off and close my eyes, waiting for the vision of her.

"She is at Honeydukes and still has a bit of a walk to where we are."

I watch Ron, my mirror image, rub his chin thoughtfully. I would _never_ do that, would I? It is a strange sensation watching oneself do everyday things, not too unlike the magicked mirrors we have in the loo, I suppose.

"Draco, I don't think Hermione would be able to handle seeing two of you right now. She was in a right snit when I saw her storm away earlier. Maybe we should go through with the plan without telling her that I'm involved. We don't have a lot of time to explain anyway."

"Do not," I correct mechanically as I consider telling him that keeping things from Hermione always seems to backfire. I look at him-myself-staring at me, and suddenly I realize maybe a plan adjustment might be in order. Ron could go and get Emmanuelle while I work on keeping Hermione from going to the Manor at all. We could always tell her about the polyjuice after the fact.

The more I think about this little deception, the more palatable it becomes, except now I have a flash of conscience and think it should be me who goes to do the actual dirty work to save Emmanuelle. I could not abide it if Ron was detected and caught by Death Eaters. Besides, it would be faster if I went and I would less likely be killed in the process. I suggest this to Ron.

"No, Malfoy. You have to stay and try to convince Hermione not to go," he says. "You've got a better chance at it. I couldn't be you for very long with her, and once she figures it out, she'd be hopping mad and then make her way to the Manor without either you or me just out of spite."

I rub my temple, knowing the truth of this. Besides, she would be here any minute now.

"OK, OK ... but Ron, you must not go until Hermione and I leave. So, if I can convince her to stay, you have to stay, too. Then, I will go and get Emmanuelle on my own, after I know you and Hermione are back at Hogwarts."

I watch him consider it. After all the planning and preparing, I know it would be a blessed relief for Ron not to have to impersonate me. It is not his responsibility anyway. I firm my resolve.

"Mate," I say, the unfamiliar endearment slipping from my tongue as I slap the image of myself on the shoulder, "you go in _only_ if you see me use the Floo to go to the Manor with Granger and only after you feel the heat of the coin to signal that the coast is clear. Agreed?"

He nods reluctantly.

"How long will the polyjuice hold?" I ask.

"I took Snape's newly altered potion. It will work up until I drink the antidote," he says, holding a little vial up to the light. He quickly slips it back into his pocket.

"Brilliant!" I say, "When you find the girl and are ready to re-enter the Floo, hold your coin and let me know so I can make sure the Floo system will allow you out of the Manor."

Just as he nods his agreement, the bells on the front door jangle indicating the witch we've been waiting for has just arrived.

**

* * *

POV: Hermione Granger

* * *

**

Blind to all else, I march to the Floo in the back corner of The Three Broomsticks, trying to remember the plan I'd overheard Draco and Ron talking about but I can't seem to remember what I need to do to allow me to cross the wards and get into Malfoy Manor.

_Bugger._

I'd thought I'd committed it to memory, but in my fury I'd managed to forget the words Malfoy was going to use. I wish the prat were here so I could strangle the information out of his lying, deceitful throat.

"Granger."

_Well, speak of the devil_.

"Muestildae," I snap, though I am secretly pleased he'd come. It would be easier with him in tow.

"_Regardless_. You are not going."

I ignore his overbearing decree and ask instead, "Do you have it? The orb, I mean. You remembered to bring it with you, right?"

Self-consciously his hand travels to his pocket and I hide a pleased grin. _Good. He has it._

"Let's go, then," I say grabbing hold of his hand. We are both shocked at the flash of bright light the touching of our hands emits. He raises an eyebrow as I frown.

"Look, Gra-Muest.. ugh!" He scowls. "We are _not_ going."

I drop his hand and stalk over to the working Floo. "Either you're coming or not. I am going. Decide."

I step into the Floo, and as soon as I do, he's in there with me as quick as lightening, wrapping his arms around me. Before I can shout "Malfoy Manor", he shouts out something else, and I see the vision of hundreds of open Floos pass us. He pulls at me when we reach our opening.

"Damn it all, Hermione! You are the most stubborn-" He's brushing off the soot as he glares at me from under his dirtied blond lashes.

"Where are we?" I ask, ignoring his angry muttering as I take in the musty surroundings.

**

* * *

POV: Draco

* * *

**

"The old gamekeeper's house on the Malfoy property," I reply, thoroughly annoyed. It was the first place that came to mind since I do not want her anywhere near my room, the only place I can directly Floo into the Manor without setting off the wards. I do not want her seeing Weasley, who has just signaled he's gotten in without incident.

_Lumos!_

An inch of dust covers the items in the room where we landed. I enchant a few floating candles, but not enough to attract attention from the outside. I pull my hand away from the coin and watch her start for the door. I send out a small hex to forcibly repel her hand from the knob.

"You stay put. This is my domain. I will summon you when I know it is safe," I say haughtily as I watch her gaze narrow and a scowl form on those pretty lips.

"I am warning you, Hermione. Stay here. It will take me only a few minutes to— "

"Don't tell me what to do!" She grabs onto my robe and pulls me toward her. I push at her. She fights me, her breath heightens and I find myself loosing some control. I realize that I am much stronger than her when I feel something give under my grip. She slaps my hands away and then tries to hit me. I reach out to pull at her hair. _Hellion._

"Ouch! Let go, you vile beast!"

"Behave!" I seethe at her. Her hand grabs my necktie and yanks on it so it feels like a noose. I pry her fingers loose, amazed that I manage to keep hold of my wand. "You are going to get the both of us killed!" I choke out. "Get a hold of your emotions and stop being so childish! Have you forgotten _all _of the training? _This_ pain," I tighten my grip in her hair and shake her a little, just enough for her to cry out, "_this_ is nothing compared to what they could do to you if I don't ensure that you are properly introduced. Stay here, or so help me, Hermione, I will Body Bind and Silencio you! And then I will leave you to rot in here. Do you want that?"

She sharply shakes her head twice, wincing at the movement which causes me to pull harder at the unruly hanks of hair in my grip.

"Will you do as I ask?"

Her brown eyes glitter in defiance. I hold my wand threateningly at her. She nods sharply again, not at all looking cowed.

"Good girl."

I let go and bodily push her a bit further into the back of the room. She stumbles backward. Then, I stride out the door and charm it locked, just in case. I am frankly surprised she was so easy to subdue.

In the fading afternoon light, I take a casual walk around the grounds, hiding behind the tall bushes to peer into the house. Very little movement. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary outside or in, I am just about to return to the gamekeeper's hut when I feel her hurrying up beside me. "All's clear, Malfoy."

I silently reprimand myself for forgetting to relieve her of her wand. I growl at her and grab her elbow to drag her through the front door.

**

* * *

In the upper rooms of Malfoy Manor  
POV: Ron  


* * *

**

"Get out!" the high-pitched shriek rings in my ears as Gatoo and I materialize in the room. The house-elf steps in front of me. To his surprise and, it seems, great distress, I reflexively shield him from something hard and shiny whinging through the air heading straight for us.

As soon as I spot the Floo in the corner, I order Gatoo back to Draco's bedroom. Too stunned at my kindness to refuse, the house-elf leaves the room with a loud crack.

"Get out! Get out! GET OUT! GET OUT!"

The continuous screaming is ear splitting. Sharp little household objects that she was already holding continue to pepper me.

The hollering sharp-shooter hurries to place herself behind a huge ornamental bed, as far away from me as possible. Clearly, the helpless Muggle prisoner hadn't spent her time wasting away in despair. She'd been working, it seems, to gather anything and everything in the room that she could possibly throw and building it into a strategically placed fort. It's doubtful that her meager Muggle attempts would be much protection against a wizard or witch with a working wand, but the effort is impressive.

Looking closer, I see that this innovative Muggle is blonde and blue-eyed— just about the prettiest girl I'd ever seen.

Having dealt with a violence-prone sister nearly all my life, I know instinctively when to duck and dodge. As expected, several heavy items miss me, shattering, instead, against the wall behind me.

A murderous look is etched on the girl's face. Her chest is heaving at the exertion of throwing things and yelling at the same time.

"Stay where you are!" she warns loudly, growing more furious as I ignore her command.

"Emma?" I take a careful step closer.

"Who are you to address me with such familiarity?" She throws something else at me and calls me something that sounds crude and French. I'm supremely glad I don't know the language.

Then a book hits me square on the forehead as I stare at her. My pride stings at having been hit. Reflexively, I start to charge at her just to stop her firing. I take no more than two steps when I spy her hauling a fairly large, sharp-edged vase from the floor. I halt for a moment, then decide to approach more cautiously, hands open to indicate I mean her no harm.

"Now, calm down, Emma," I engourage softly, as though trying to soothe one of Hagrid's monstrous creatures. "My name is Ron Weasley. Your grandfather sent me to help you escape."

Her eyes flash again as I call her by a nickname that I can't seem to stop from coming out of my mouth.

"You are lying! And stop calling me _that_," she snaps, each exclamation punctuated with another small object hitting the wall or bouncing off of me. "You are _not_ called Ron Weasely! You and your family are _insane_! Très fou! Get the fucking hell away from me!"

My eyebrows rise at the pretty, French-accented voice continuously shouting obscenities, both foreign and not. She's like an enraged mini-Fleur Delacour.

_A petite woman warrior._

I smile at the thought, forgetting what _that_ looks like on my current face and how the smirk seems to incite most intelligent women, with incredibly good aim, to instant outrage.

The vase is hurled at me and its edge pierces my forearm. I can feel blood start to seep through my shirt sleeve under my robe.

_Owww! Bloody hell, she's got an arm!_

Losing my patience, I take another careful but long step toward her, my hands still open and visible.

"My name is Ronald Weasley," I repeat, "and I'm here to help you, Emma. Please stop screeching! Someone might hear!"

She clamps her mouth shut and cocks her head at me. I figure I must have said something that might get her to believe my story. I move toward her again and she grabs up something else from her rapidly dwindling supply of expensive weaponry. I do notice that she's keeping the most harmful artifacts for the last, though, and I have no desire to feel them rip into my skin.

"I DO NOT SCREECH, you pompous ass!" she screeches. "Besides, I can scream if I like! Your Aunt Bellatrix said the room is _muffle_, or something like that, so no one can hear what vile words I call you... Only _you_ can hear me! And you are a..."

She pauses for a breath and to swallow, then sends a string of what I can only guess are the worst sort of French words for swine and jackass flying out at me. I try not to smile because this is such a ridiculous situation, and my smirking face would only make things worse. Besides, we need to speed things up. I really do need to haul her pretty derriere out of Malfoy's mansion as quickly as possible.

At my lack of response she stops.

"I thought you know French," she asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Not a word," I reply happily.

Her eyes narrow. Now if looks could kill, I'd be one dead wizard.

"Do not lie to me, _Draco Malfoy_. You have been speaking French to me for nearly four days." She looks to a magical portrait of the blond git who appears to be watching the events with obvious interest.

I shrug.

Emma tries another tactic to get me to reveal her understanding of the truth.

"Your aunt said you and_ tous vos amis _would be soon coming to convince me to see the right way. Your auntie insists I'll be won over by your incredible charms."

She spits all of this out as an insult and continues her name calling and cursing. Fortunately, I'm _not_ Malfoy, so I do what comes naturally.

I laugh. _Uproariously_.

Apparently Aunt Bella is a big Draco fan. What sticks with me is the way the girl says Malfoy's name, like it's bad cheese that leaves a bad taste in her mouth. I can certainly understand _that_ feeling.

Emmanuelle stops her intense verbal attack in a confused moment of sanity when she hears my laughter. A little pout forms on her lips at my absurd reaction to what should have been a pretty winning zinger.

"Say, Emma?" I begin curiously, "How do you know…"

"… what, you bastard fucking shit? Are you wondering how I know your incredibly ridiculous name?"

I wonder at how her slight accent makes such words, even misused, sound so sexy. Despite the attraction, now my temper starts to boil and I suddenly feel like playing the part of the prat since I can actually understand her latest insult.

"Not really," I reply arrogantly in my best rendition of the guy she was currently cursing to hell and back. "It would be a sin not to know who Malfoy is. But I am curious. Has his infamy truly crossed over the Wizarding border and into the Muggle world? How do _you, _pray tell, know the Malfoy name?"

Her hand holding some new ammunition drops, and so does her mouth. She stares at me with wide-eyed incredulity. The silver thing in her hand lands with a soft thud onto the thickly carpeted floor.

Shockingly supreme vanity. Sometimes it pays to look like Draco.

She glares at me. I inch forward until my knees almost hit the opposite side of the king-sized bed. Her eyes slit dangerously, taking in my nearness, and for protection she gathers up two long crystal looking things.

Candlesticks. I shudder.

"I knew you were lying! Ron Weaselee, my ass! How? How can I not be aware of who you are? This room is a shrine to you, is it not? You imbecile!" Her fluttering hands motion to the wall and shelves which I now notice are indeed decorated with no less than fifteen portraits and pictures of the Slytherin prat and his friends.

"Your bitch of an aunt locked me in here so I could familiarize myself with you and your equally disturbing friends. It was not wise for her to do that. Your vile mouth has made me deeply disgusted with you even _before_ this meeting. Your image in these _peintures_ have been schooling my-comment dites-vous? Ahhh yes-_filthy Muggle-self_ in the correct pronunciation of _your_ name for days. I'm a squib, if you must know, and vous êtes une merde baisante!" she shouts, her voice ringing in my head.

Like this, she was one scary bint. I back up just a little. I know she's just called me something really bad. I just know it.

"... and besides that, I am the foretold heir of Slytherin," she continues passionately. "So you better keep _your_ filthy hands off of me or your Lord will kill you for dirtying me with your less than worthy touch."

She sounds like she's parroting this last warning from something she heard before getting thrown into her cozy little prison. I wonder if she perhaps heard Bellatrix warning off some of Voldemort's minions. It would certainly explain why Emma hadn't been Crucio'ed to insanity yet.

Emma's gaze is warily trained on me as she tightens her hold on one of the candlesticks and starts to raise it in the air.

"You are _not_ the Heir of Slytherin," I announce with conviction, keeping close watch of her hand movements. "You can stop pretending with me, Emma. My name is Ronald Weasley. Your grandfather, Leo Muestildae sent me. I have his portrait here in my pocket. I a—"

At the movement of my hand toward my pocket, I feel the sharp bite of one the candlesticks hitting my shouler.

"For fuck's sake, Emma!" I shout, enraged and in pain.

"Watch your dirty mouth! And keep your hands in the air! Stop calling me Emma! I know you are trying to reach your wand, you swine!" she screams this while hurling the other crystal candlestick at my head.

I shift quickly, thanking Merlin for my Keeper skills which allows me to avoid decapitation.

"Maybe this would be a good time to do your little light show," I suggest loudly to my magically-enlarged shirt pocket. I swerve to the left to avoid a bruised shoulder. A razor-edged crystal paper weight nicks my elbow.

"Emmanuelle! Stop throwing things at the boy or I'll give him permission to Silencio and bind you. We need to get you out of here. Stop immediately!"

"Grand-père?" She breathes incredulously. She at last stops her attack to stare wide-eyed at my glowing shirt pocket. "Take him out! Let me see!" she commands.

I bite back a sharp retort about how that's what I'd been trying to do in the first place and immediately dig my hand in my pocket before she can reconsider. My fingers grasp the gold-tinted frame and I pull it out.

I watch her face crumple a little at the sight of a family member before she pulls herself together to stare at me and then back at the image of Mr. Muestilde. Her eyes are rounded and she's completely off-balance now that she sees that I do indeed have her grandfather in the palm of my hand.

"Savez-vous même qui il est?" she poses the French question at the portrait.

"Yes, Emma. I know who he is," Muestilde answers with an impatient sigh. "This is Ron. He's disguised as Draco for protection. Ma fille chérie, please calm down. We need to get you out of this place."

"Qu'est-ce qui passe? Pourquoi est il ici et vous n'êtes pas?" her French is rapid and she's chosen the language due to her instinctual distrust in me.

"_English_, s'il vous plaît, Emma," Mr. Muestilde reprimands. "Ron is here to help. Listen to him. Go with him. I couldn't come because of your father's condition."

"Mon père? Il est vivant?" She cries excitedly, tears welling im her eyes, staring at me. I don't know what she said, so I don't know how to respond. "Oh, je m'excuse, Ron. My father, he's alive? I've been so worried."

She looks so relieved that I want to go to her, but stop myself since she still held some fairly sharp objects.

"Well, let's get you out of here then, so you can stop worrying," I extend my hand out to her. She hesitates a moment.

I touch the coin in my pocket, hoping to hell that Draco can feel it and has cleared the way.

Relief flushes through me as I feel the responding pulse of warmth from the coin in my other hand.

"Emma, let's go," I say more urgently.

She hesitates.

"I don't know," she says, gnawing at her lower lip, a familiar nervous movement I recognize that could just as well have been Hermione's. If it meant the same thing, this decision of hers could take days.

I curse and pull the antidote out of my pocket, pop the top and take a swig. I feel the effects immediately because the clothes I'm wearing are far too small. I have to undo some buttons while she watches me curiously.

I loosen the tie, pop two buttons at my neck and open the ones at my wrists. When I reach for the one at my trouser fly, her look turns from mildly curious to a little predatory.

"You have red hair," she says sashaying toward me. I try to keep from taking an instinctive step back. "Even on your chest. Vous avez de beaux yeux bleus. _Splendide_." She is smiling appreciatively at me for the first time since I apparated into the room. Her French tongue has gone from enraged to sultry.

I didn't have to understand French to understand her interest. I nod and gulp.

_You've got no time for this,_ I silently warn myself.

"Take my hand, Emma," I order, ignoring my libido. "Trust me."

She does as I command. I sigh, relieved, and we step into the Floo.

As I shout out our destination, I realize that she hadn't corrected me for the use of her shortened name.

**

* * *

POV: Narcissa Malfoy

* * *

**

_No, He is not._

I write the words in the magical notebook. The pages absorb my words as quickly as I write them.

_Are you alone, then? _These words flash in reply.

_Quite. _I smile as I write the word.

A hushed pair of voices in the foyer interrupts my correspondence and the peaceful silence of my afternoon tea. It is an unusual time to receive visitors and the voices, at least one of them, seems an unlikely one. I place an eavesdropping charm on the pair, so I do not need to move from my comfortable position to hear what they are hissing at one another.

"Stop telling me what to do, Malfoy! I'm tired of it. I've come for two reasons: I mean to see Him and I mean to save her!"

"You are infinitely lucky I followed you here to allow your entry. You should be kowtowing to me, you brainless twit! Stop rolling your eyes! You are doubly lucky that no one was at the front gate or patrolling the perimeter, save one of mother's peacocks! For Merlin's sake, Granger, you cannot just waltz into my home demanding an audience with V-the Dark Lord!" he hisses loud enough for me to hear. "Did you take Snape's serum, the one..."

The last few words are too faint for me to hear. I shake my head. How thoughtless of Draco to make such a noisy appearance. It is a good thing I do not expect any company besides the girl upstairs until tomorrow evening. I tune into their conversation.

"I did, but I won't need it. And stop calling me that! I _am_ NOT Granger. I _am_ the girl in the prophecy, Draco! He'll want to see _me_! You have it, the orb, right? He needs to see it!" she seethes, undaunted.

I hear my son harrumph his answer and then swear colourfully at the owner of the feminine voice. I am slightly taken aback by his poor manners but am extremely curious. There has been relatively little with which to occupy myself since my home has effectively become as restrictive as my husband's jail cell. Besides, Draco has never brought a girl home before, nor have I ever before heard him quite so peeved about someone else's safety.

The two teens pass the Manor's solarium where I am seated. Beyond the glass doors, I recognize the girl as the one from the Hogsmead pub – _Harry Potter's friend –_ the very girl Draco chose not to play messenger for Bellatrix that day.

_Interesting._

Tonight, the girl looks extremely disheveled wearing Muggle clothes, hair flying every which way and her vest askew. It would seem as though she's just been in a tussle. To her left, my son comes squarely into view. He continues his low growling at her and he, too, appears similarly mussed. I move to stand and his ever wary eye catches my movement from behind the french doors.

"Draco," I call. "Were you looking for me? Why have you come home? I wasn't expecting you so early."

"Mother!" I watch him catch hold of the wandering girl's arm, yanking her toward the conservatory and me. She is fighting his grasp, quite insulted to be dragged about.

_As she should be_, I think, as I watch him haul her over.

"Draco, darling. Who is this?" I say, holding a hand out to him. He drops his hold on the girl and quickly strides to me, taking my hand. He moves closer to bend his head towards me to peck my cheek. I place my palm against his face and smile.

"Mother, you look beautiful as always."

"And you look much better than the last time I saw you, Draco." I flick my gaze at the girl who, instead of straightening herself to be presentable, has been avidly watching our little greeting. I find it interesting that she hasn't cowered like that Pansy strumpet who generally scampers to hide in Draco's shadow when confronted by the mere sight of me.

"Good evening, my dear," I say, holding a hand out, "and you are?"

For a moment, I think the girl will do the unthinkable and leave my hand hanging in the air, that is until she shakes off her initial shock at my warm welcome. I wonder what stories the child has heard of me. I smile benignly.

"Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy, my name is Hermione Granger M-Mustelidae," she says her voice quavering only a tiny bit. She takes hold of my offered hand and I find myself impressed with her confident handshake. "I've just discovered the Mustelidae part, thanks to Draco and to you for providing that amazing book of Wizarding Family Trees. You see, I am the girl in the orb that your husband revealed to Draco over the summer. I'm the female heir of Slytherin he's been trying to find. Despite your son's reticence, I have decided to fulfill the prophecy to help your family. I'm here without Mal-Draco's approval. Professor Snape has made us all aware of your... ah... _assistance_."

I purse my lips, wondering how unwise it was of Severus to reveal my involvement. I think about this as I curiously watch how she tugs at my son's arm. Presumably, she wants him to take his hand out of his pocket along with what I surmise is the aforementioned prophetic orb. He stubbornly refuses to budge, nudging her away with his elbow and a dark look. I watch bemused at their little skirmish, perhaps this is the cause of their dishevelment?

Miss Mustelidae's mouth tightens; her chin tilts slightly upward. I see the darkening of Draco's irises and his scowl deepens when he notices her movement. Very little brings Draco to such obvious emotion. I nearly cry out in surprise when he takes both hands and places them against her shoulders to shove her away. He has never in my presence, and of his own accord, touched anyone except me, not since he was a small child. He even keeps the Parkinson chit at arm's length when she is about the Manor.

I feel the rise of my eyebrow as I notice the girl begin to reach into Draco's trouser pocket.

"Hermione!" He uses her name as a strong rebuke and sharply steps aside. This takes him away from her searching hand, but the loss of him pushing against her nearly causes her to topple over. He swiftly moves to catch her up, assisting her in regaining her balance. This unusually gallant behavior from him does not escape my notice, nor does his head motions at her that point directly at me. I watch amusedly as she realizes her faux pas. Her cheeks flush a bright crimson and she lets out a horrified gasp. It seems the poor child forgot herself in her stubborn desire to best my son. Somehow I find this doggedness to stand up to my irrefutably belligerent child and her resulting fluster at having gone too far to convince me of her heritage quite... _fascinating_.

"There's no need, Miss Mustelidae. I've seen the orb many times. After all, I was the keeper of its puzzle box," I say with a negligent wave. Then, I turn to Draco. "I, darling, have been expecting you. Severus implied that you would be coming soon. I should have known Miss Mustelidae would be the_ real _one. Please, both of you, have a seat."

The girl seems thankful to take advantage of my offer. I wonder how far she's come to at last find herself on my chintz armchair. It could not have been easy. I notice her eyeing the tea cakes. Draco remains standing, pacing. I abhor pacing. He notices my look of disapproval, bows slightly, and settles to lean lazily against one of the floor-length windowsills.

"Is _He_ here, Mrs. Malfoy?"

I turn my attention to the girl's determinedly eager voice that barely hides what I imagine must be some intense fear. I watch her furrow her brow, as though she is deciding whether to accept a cup of tea from Lulu, one of the house-elves.

"Take it, Hermione," comes the gruff command from Draco, who has moved to stand at the Floo's mantle, his hand in his trouser pocket, agitated. "It is just some blasted tea, for Merlin's sake! Must everything be a crusade with you?" He leans unnaturally close to the Floo, as if to examine the painting above. He has one foot in what would have been ashes had the house-elves not been diligent in their job of keeping the Manor spotless.

The Muestildae girl frowns at him but turns to smile at Lulu, gingerly accepting the teacup with a whispered, "Thank you very much. I appreciate the kind offer." Lulu averts her eyes, unused to such effusive gratitude. I wonder at the girl's reticence and her kindness toward her lessers.

"Would you mean The Dark Lord?" I query, moving back to her question and trying to keep the sneer out of my deliverance of the half-blood's self-proclaimed title. "No, He is not. I do not expect Bellatrix until tomorrow night and she was unsure if He would be arriving with her or if He would wait until the weekend when Draco and the rest of the more senior members of Slytherin are expected."

I hear the audible outtake of breath from both teens. I cannot tell if the pair of exhales are of relief or distress.

I turn back to the girl. "You are aware, my dear," I warn, "that you will have to address _Him_ as The Dark Lord, regardless of where your loyalties lie."

She looks startled by my words. I send her a small, encouraging smile.

"My loyalties lie with my friends, Mrs. Malfoy, and I count Draco among them," she announces decidedly, her eyes unwavering from my stare. She turns to sip her tea, and I hear her mutter to herself, "whether he wants me to be his friend or not."

I try to hide a pleased smile at her afterthought.

"This is why I am here, after all, for my friends," she continues more loudly. "But, yes, I see what you mean. I'm determined to speak to_ The Dark Lord_. I've been wanting to tell him for a long time of my... ah... _relationship_ to Him, but I have been thwarted at every turn." She turns her angry gaze accusingly at my son, who is now looking out towards the darkened grounds, searching, I suppose, for the presence of any remaining Death Eaters.

"They have not been here since the Yule," I say, unable to hide the relief in my response. "They have been gone for some time, thankfully."

"And Aunt Bella?" Draco's insolent drawl tries to hide the true fearful curiosity in his query.

"She comes and goes as she pleases. She left this afternoon to spend time with Him, or so she says."

"Are you alone, Mother?"

Before I can tell Draco that we indeed have company, the Floo suddenly comes alive. Out steps Severus holding the scruff of an all too familiar-looking young man who looks wholly unhappy to have been whisked away from Hogwarts.

The intrusion has both teens simultaneously crying out.

"Ron?" Draco shouts, confused.

"Draco?" Hermione gasps, staring between the two young men.

Snape appears unmoved as he angrily shakes the belligerent boy he holds by the collar, then turns abruptly to address me.

"Narcissa?"

Even as my eyes take in the incredible sight, I fight my initial shock and think back to the question Severus posed in the magic notebook earlier. I shake my head telling him, no, Voldemort is not here. My son's godfather visibly relaxes.

With that, everyone turns to stare intently at the boy still held by Snape — a boy who happens to look _exactly_ like my son.

"I thought you already left!" Draco shouts at the young man Severus still has in his grips.

"I found him waltzing down the corridor just outside the Slytherin dungeons," Severus says. "Was he not supposed to be with you?"

My jaw unhinges as I watch Draco nod very slowly while glaring at the boy imprisoned under Serverus's grip.

"He was, Sir, just as we planned. He was with me until I Floo'ed here with Granger," he answers the professor, then turns to address the other boy being held at the scruff by Severus. "Did something happen that you had to go back to the castle, Ron? Why didn't you signal if you were in trouble?"

"Why do you keep calling him _Ron_?" Hermione demands of the two men.

"I'm _not_ Ron," groans the young man in question.


	31. In the Face of Evil

_It's been such a long time, so, I thought to provide a synopsis: _

Through a portraiture meeting of her real magical grandparents, Hermione discovers Emmanuelle has been abducted by Bellatrix. In a fit of rage against Draco and his lie of ommission, Hermione decides to floo to the Malfoy compound, somehow save her adoptive parents' daughter, and get on with the duties of being the Slytherin heir. A still reluctant Draco, fearing for her life, decides to accompany her, though, they quarrel the entire way. Unbeknownst to Hermione, a polyjuiced Ron, acting as Draco, successfuly enters Malfoy Manor and saves Emmanuelle from Bellatrix's evil clutches. We left off last chapter with the unexpected appearance of Snape and an unknown boy wearing Draco's face.

**

* * *

POV: Hermione**

* * *

This Draco look-alike is not Ron, of this I am absolutely sure. There is something missing in the way the blond stranger looks at me. After denying his identity, his mouth hangs open as he stares. I realize, with some disgust, that this is not an attractive look on his borrowed face. Besides, he is far too surprised to discover me with the Ferret to be Ron.

I turn to the snarling Draco at my side. The boy in Snape's clutches is most certainly not the _real_ Draco Malfoy as no one wears a scowl quite like the blond next to me.

I look to the mystery boy again. He still appears gobsmacked. The wide-eyed astonishment at finding me at Malfoy Manor is enough evidence for me to rule out one other. There just wasn't enough hatred flowing out of the unknown lithe figure to make him Harry Potter.

"Of course he's not Ron," I exclaim. "Can't you tell?"

All eyes turn to me and then quickly back toward the stranger.

"Crabbe? Goyle?" Draco starts naming off his male housemates. With each spoken name, the collared blond bares his teeth and vehemently shakes his head no.

"How dare you impersonate me without my express permission!" Draco bellows once he's finished with his list. Eyebrows rise all around the room and I wonder exactly how many people have permission to play Draco's twin.

"Honestly, Malfoy! Just ask him who he is and be done with it," I interject impatiently. There's a dangerous glint in Draco's eye, so before he does something stupid, like hex his undesired twin, I step in front of Snape to address the stranger. "Who are you?" I ask flatly.

"How could you, Hermione?" the voice is low and gruff, full of self-righteous indignation. Despite the strong emotion in it, the voice is familiar, but not one I instantly recognize. I sift through my memory trying to place it. "How can _you_ be here with the likes of _him_?" Malfoy's mystery twin continues. "I thought you had your hands full what with all your Gryffindor men. But now, you bitch, it seems to the shame of your House you would rather have a snake in your bed." The fake Draco spits the last at me as if he finds my actions a personal affront. Now _this_ is a look and tone more suited to the false face. A familiar sort of rage wells up inside me. Ironically, I feel the real Draco behind me take offense to the character attack.

"You dare speak to her in this manner? Watch your mouth," Draco growls menacingly, his wand pointed at his doppelganger. "Shut it instantly, or I will shut it for you."

Bewildered, I turn to stare at the real Draco who does not seem to notice my attention. I turn back to the stranger and snarl my own retort, "How dare you make assumptions about me and my relationships with Ron and Harry!" As the words fall from my lips, I realize I should be more outraged at the name-calling and crude insinuation about Malfoy and myself.

"Seems you've become quite adept at hiding some very tawdry facts about _that_ Slytherin from your Gryffindor housemates. Did all of this start at Slughorn's party when I saw you with _that _filth?" The stranger's hot accusation suddenly seems a bit like sour grapes as his attention turns toward Draco.

_Cormac? _I wonder as I notice a flicker of recognition in the depths of Malfoy's pewter stare.

"McLaggen? You bastard!" Draco thunders, pushing past me to grab on to the robes of the unknown boy who hasn't yet confirmed or denied his identity. "Your thievery nearly cost Weasley his life, you arrogant little shite! And now, you could very well be ruining Granger's chances of coming out of this mess alive. If you so much as breathe a word of this—"

"CISSY! WHERE ARE YOU? CISSY!"

Bellatrix's frantic shrieks tumble down to the solarium from an upstairs corridor, stunning the five of us into a silent, petrified tableau.

I feel my heart stop mid-beat as Draco curses under his breath. Glaring at the polyjuiced boy, Draco lowers his voice and sneers. From the snippets I catch, it sounds like Malfoy's employing a tongue-tying curse on the stranger who might be Cormac. As I notice the exchange, I also watch a soundless conversation pass between Mrs. Malfoy and Professor Snape above the boys' heads. Snape's hand closes more tightly on Malfoy's look-alike.

"Go, Severus," Mrs. Malfoy breathes, terrified. With one last lingering look at her, Snape launches himself and the mystery Draco into the the Floo and away from the Manor.

As for me, I find myself taking a determined step toward the glass doors, preparing myself to face my fate. Instead, the tip of Draco's wand forces me to a grinding halt.

Before I can shield myself, Draco grabs tight hold of my hand, and I feel the cold slimy sensation of an invisible raw egg messily spilling over me. With it comes the frustration of sudden, undesirable invisibility. What's worse is that Draco's mother has a similar thought to hide me in plain sight and adds her own spell to Draco's Disillusionment Charm.

I round my lips to shout a horrified, "No!" but find I am quite literally robbed of speech.

_Silencio'd!_

I turn to glare at the interfering mother and son. When I recognize their shared look of smug self satisfaction at their handiwork, I attempt to stomp off but am forcibly yanked back to the Ferret's side.

_Tethered! _And in a most aggravating manner!

Malfoy's hand clamps more tightly around my fingers in a vice-like grip. I can feel the remnant electric sparks of the curious magic that always flares at our touch. I narrow my eyes at his sharp-featured face and notice his mouth pinch, echoing the tight, stealthy movement of his hand.

Though he cannot see me, I scowl, tugging violently against his hold.

"Do not make a nuisance of yourself, Granger." Draco hisses this into my ear as he drags me to the table near his mother. He sits, forcibly trapping my hand atop the arm of the chair I'd occupied only minutes before. "I will not hesitate to pull you onto my lap if I have to."

I wish desperately for the ability to make some sort of infuriated retort. Again, I attempt to wrench myself away, but his fingernails dig into the side of my hand, sending me a silent warning to immediately cease my fight. The fierce look on his face tells me not to cross him. I fume, watching him comfortably settle into my former seat. He casually reaches over with his free hand to take hold of my teacup, calmly raising it to his lips. I track his Adam's apple as it bobs up and down in response to his slow sips of my orange pekoe tea. Witnessing his lack of fluster further incites me.

Then, the doors to the solarium crash open. At the shocking sight of the ghostly pale, petite witch filling the entrance way, I realize that Mrs. Malfoy need not have bothered to silence me. I am bereft of words. The witch's arms are outstretched. Her long-nailed fingers grasp the door frame. She is bedecked in a pitch black gown and possesses a wild abundance of hair that surprisingly is in even more chaotic disarray than my own untamed mane. Her lips, blood red, are thin against her bared teeth, which I half expect to be fanged.

My eyes round and my mouth falls open as I watch Malfoy and his mother continue their pretense of casually observing an early evening tea. Their lack of response to the deranged woman at the door would be laughable had the menacing power emanating from the witch not been so terrifying.

_What sort of place is this? Had Draco lived in constant fear all summer? Perhaps even longer?_

"CISSY! WHERE IS SHE!" the crazed woman shrieks.

"Calm yourself, Bella," Mrs. Malfoy replies softly, evidently practiced in the art of soothing her sister. "Of whom are we speaking?"

"The squib, the squib! Cissy! Emmanuelle, of course!" Bellatrix howls.

"Oh, yes, her," Narcissa murmurs distantly, carelessly waving a hand toward Draco who nods imperceptibly. "She's gone."

Bellatrix's eyes bulge, her scarlet lips fall open and her chest heaves, gulping in air, perhaps to fuel her screech of outrage.

"Aunt," Draco's composed voice interrupts her on-coming wail. "The squib was not the girl you were looking for."

Stormily, she regards her nephew. Her mouth clamps shut, her eyes hold a demonic glow, and she is all but trembling with tempestuous rage. Her approach is unearthly, a sort of flying glide, like that of a spectre. Her soundless rush toward my invisible self has me instinctively shrinking away, but Draco's hand stays me, and I am forced to stand still at the sight of his swiftly advancing aunt.

To my great relief, Draco stands just before she might ram into me, managing to put himself between us. He still imprisons my hand. To everyone else, his own appears casually hooked at the V of his vest. Beneath it, my palm is flat and firmly pressed against his chest. His other is held up, palm forward, a silent command for Bellatrix to tread no farther. The way he traps my fingers beneath his forces my front against his back. I hear his barely audible intake of breath at the feel of me so near.

Left with little choice, I rest my face against the side of Draco's arm as I peer at Bellatrix from behind the wall of his body. His muscles tighten beneath my cheek.

Had my hand not been flat against his thundering heartbeat, I would have thought Draco was experiencing no more fear than if he were truly enjoying a quiet cup of tea with his mother.

"Where is she, you self-serving brat?" Bellatrix shrieks. Her expression is openly venomous and her wand is at the ready. "How dare you interfere with my work for the Dark Lord. I should _Crucio_ you within an inch of your life. Produce the squib. RIGHT NOW!" Spittle flies from her mouth at her viciously spoken command. I feel the slight jump in Draco's tricep and a twitch in his hand against mine as his body responds to her high-pitched threat.

He shifts slightly, pulling at my arm, intertwining my fingers with his, leaving me nowhere to go but flatter against the broad plane of his back. The feel of his tautened muscles against my cheek nearly distracts me from the fact that he places both our clasped hands into his pocket where I feel the smoothness of the prophetic orb against the back of my hand. The touch of it instantaneously calms me.

"I have damning evidence, Aunt Bella, that you are quite wrong about the squib. You should not have abducted that useless girl to present to the Dark Lord as the Heir of Slytherin," Draco plainly states. "You should be thanking me, dear aunt, not threatening me. My discovery may have saved you from certain death over your careless mistake. Fear not, however. Your misstep was so easily fixed that I have already done the correcting for you."

Wary, but curious, Bellatrix tilts her head at Draco, who, in the confines of his pocket, still threads his fingers with mine. My knuckles slip against his palm. _Damp_. I realize suddenly that despite his outward calm and unyielding manner, Draco is _afraid_ of her. My heart lurches for him.

Suddenly, his grip tightens, almost as though he is trying to milk raw courage from my smaller fingers. I squirm against his body and his hold releases slightly. My gaze slowly moves upward and I crane my neck to view his face. There is no real outward tension, only his jaw muscles twitch slightly as he stares at his now eerily silent aunt.

Sour breath spills out of her mouth. She is standing so closely that her acrid exhale steals into my nostrils, filling my lungs with her noxious second-hand air. I grimace, as does Draco.

"The Dark Lord and the others will be here within the hour," Bella says with both reverence and fear. "Where is this girl, Draco?" she again forcefully demands.

"The true Slytherin Heir is within my grasp," comes Draco's cool reply. Surprisingly, I find myself smirking at his wit. "I only have to summon her to the Manor, and she will be here, more than pleased to serve the Dark Lord."

"There, you see, Bella? There is no longer need to worry," Mrs. Malfoy adds with some bored finality.

"I will not be made a fool by a mere child!" Bellatrix stomps her foot like a spoiled toddler. "Summon the heir NOW, Draco!" she impatiently commands.

"So that you might gain the credit for producing her?" Narcissa speaks softly, but her words are underlain with cold steel. "I think not, dear. It was my son who discovered the true heir, and he is the one in possession of the prophetic orb. You, Bella, have neither the heir nor the orb. And you will not rob Draco and the Malfoy family of the great honor of presenting both of these to the Dark Lord. Simply be grateful, darling sister, that we do not mention your bumbling attempts when we present her to Him."

Bella shifts uncomfortably at the truth as spoken by Narcissa.

"And what of the squib?" Bella inquiries more meekly. I watch Mrs. Malfoy stiffen. I wonder if she is just as confused as I am about Emmanuelle's disappearance.

"Taken care of," Draco's dark reply fills the room. "I disposed of her myself with the assistance of my house-elf."

Bellatrix looks about ready to explode. I itch to pinch him. What was this? How could he have done _anything_ to Emmanuelle when he was with me all this time?

"Draco, there is much to be done to prepare for the Dark Lord's arrival. Please see that the servants are put to their tasks," Narcissa orders dismissively, giving us a segue out of the room. "I have things to discuss with your aunt."

* * *

**POV: Draco**

* * *

Mother escorts us out of the room, providing the still-disillusioned Granger with ample cover to shield any charm discrepancies from Aunt Bella's sharp, unwavering gaze. Once out of sight of the solarium, I heave a relieved sigh. Though I can neither see nor hear her, in my pocket I can still feel Granger's hand. The solidity of her fingers wrapped around mine comforts me, and I tug her more gently to the sanctity of my bedroom.

Upon entering, I spy a quivering Gahtoo who rushes toward me, bowing so deeply his nose brushes the plush oriental carpet touted as one of the last ever to fly the London skies.

"Master!"

"Gahtoo," I reply, a smile in my voice, quite pleased to see him safe. "I trust you are well?" I feel Granger freeze beside me when she hears me speaking so kindly to my wizened house-elf.

"Only as good as Master Draco keeps Gahtoo," a frown forms on the house-elf's wrinkly face. "Master should not send Gahtoo away when Master is in danger."

My allowance for this slight scolding stems from the knowledge of Gahtoo's undying devotion to me. It was, after all, Gahtoo who often bore the brunt of punishments for my childhood misdeeds.

"Mother needs the house prepared for the Dark Lord's arrival, Gahtoo. Inform the others," I announce. Granger pinches my arm to remind me of her presence. "Ouch!" I slap at her invisible fingers as Gahtoo stares wide-eyed. I pinch her back, strangely gratified to feel her outrage in the stomp she plants on my foot. I grab onto her invisible waist and shake. "Stop it, Granger," I hiss.

Looking at my elf, I worry my lip, thinking of her upcoming meeting, and I realize Hermione is still in Muggle clothes. Hastily, I add, "Oh, and tell Fifi and Lulu to fetch some material, towels, old rags and the like. Tell Mother of my request that she transfigure or charm them into a nightdress and robes that might fit a—" I hesitate, unsure how to continue. I turn my cheek and feel the top of Hermione's invisible head hit just below my chin. "—a witch about the size of my Aunt Bellatrix."

Like any loyal servant of a grand manor, Gahtoo does not blink an eye at the unusual request. He disapparates quickly to do my bidding.

The sound of Gahtoo's departure has me turning and grasping my wand. I let go of Granger's hand and wave a Finite Incantatem at the space beside me. The charm lifts, and I watch her curiously as she digests the fact that she is alone with me in my bedroom. The reality of this flickers in my head and I turn away from her, suddenly in need of fresh air. I stride over to the window and throw open the sash. A gentle evening breeze lifts the light curtain.

"I thought you'd forgotten me, you prat," she grouses. "And I thought for sure your room would be done all in silver and green." With a frown, she quietly trails her finger along the shelves of books and school memorabilia on the wall furthest from the window.

I shrug. The constrained feeling does not abate. Giving in to the need to swallow, I loosen the tie at my neck to undo the top button of my shirt whites. Slowly, I lower myself to sit on the chaise beside the window. It surprises me that I am not bothered as I watch her studious examination of my most private retreat. I take a moment to wonder about Ron as she lifts a picture up off the shelf.

As if reading my mind, Hermione turns toward me, her mouth already working. I prepare myself for the impending onslaught.

"What happened to Emmanuelle, Draco? Why did _you_ think that polyjuiced version of you might be Cormac? Not that I disagree with you, but you were accusing him of some serious crimes! Besides that, what has Ron got to do with all of this? And... and how dare you order me a nightgown made of old rags!"

I shut my eyes against the sight of her enraged self. Such a shame Mother's Silencio was so short lived, I was quite liking the silent Granger. I lay my head against the cushioned arm of the chaise and move my fingers to first massage my temples, then glide them across my closed eyelids to pinch the bridge of my nose.

She deserves answers, I think reluctantly. But I seem to have precious few to offer. The last I'd heard from Ron was the warm pulse of the coin that indicated he was safe with Emmanuelle to wherever Dumbledore had sent him. It certainly was not Snape who intercepted Ron and the squib, since the greasy professor had been here at the Manor demanding the identity of my second clone.

"Ron was polyjuiced as me. _He_ was the one who saved Emmanuelle. As far as I know, Ron and the squib are fine," I say tiredly, fingers still massaging away an oncoming headache. "Ron makes a fine Draco Malfoy, by the way," I add. "That is why I initially thought he had returned with Snape. Weasely even saved my blasted house-elf from whatever trouble that squib might have caused him in the rescue attempt."

The smell of apricots strengthens again, driving me to distraction. I can feel her presence hovering above me.

"So how sure are you about the identity of Draco number two?" she asks wonderingly.

"McLaggen must have pilfered the polyjuice I keep in my trunk that I give to the First Years I make serve my detentions for me," I mutter, wondering exactly how he might have gotten his filthy hands on the potions. I hear her make a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. I swear to myself that Crabbe and Goyle are going to pay if they had anything to do with my polyjuice falling into the hands of that good-for-nothing. "Honestly, if it isn't McLaggen, I think it could be _any _Gryffindor, Granger."

"But _not_ Harry," she states confidently.

My eyes snap open, my heart slams against my chest at the sight of the strong conviction in her dark brown gaze.

"Why not Potter?" I demand hotly, wondering what convinced her of what I already knew was the truth.

"He spoke about Harry in the third person. And even if he hadn't, simple deduction would have worked just as well."

My gaze follows the incessant light tapping of her finger on her chin.

"Your look-a-like was shocked and angry to find me with you, that's for sure, but Harry would have been throwing Unforgivables. And did you notice the way he said _Ron_? As if it was ludicrous that you'd even consider Ron a possible polyjuice drinker? As if Ron was worthless, and hardly worthy to be thought a considerable threa— "

"Must you yammer on with such rubbish?" I scold impatiently. "If what you are saying is true, Granger, then my polyjuiced thief most certainly can be _anyone _whodespises me, admires your pristine Gryffindor traits, and was fed Potter's lies. The thing of it is, I am the idiot for trusting those imbeciles, Crabbe and Goyle, with the spells that would allow them through the charmed portion of my trunk!"

A loud crack interrupts our conversation as two heaps of kitchen towels and rags magically appear between us. A squeaky girl voice emanates from beneath the stack with a deep crimson tea towel atop it.

"Mistress Malfoy tells Fifi and Lulu to bid young Master Malfoy to meet with his mother in Mistress's sitting room while Lulu and Fifi help Miss-" Two pairs of wide elfin eyes stare at Hermione from beneath the heaps of towels.

"Muestildae," Granger supplies after an awkward moment. I roll my eyes disgustedly. She stares pointedly at me.

I watch as Granger bends to pick up one on the towels. At her touch, the whole load turns into piles of dresses and underthings that would leave Pansy panting in pleasure. Clever witch, my mother. The sight of the clothes have the house-elves leaping away.

I stride over and bend to gingerly pick up some scrap of light, gossamer fabric. My eyes go wide, and Granger's do too, at the sight of the barely-there knickers. I smirk and lift an eyebrow.

"Seems Mother's taken a liking to you, Granger. She is intent on matchmaking despite all that we face tonight." I shake my head with a sad sort of chortle as I make my way out the door. As an afterthought, I turn to place a spell on the doorknob, disallowing all but myself in and out.

"You will be meeting the Dark Lord in little more than a half hour," I say through the heavy wooden barrier. "It would be best to make yourself somewhat presentable,if _that_ is even possible. Good luck with the task, Fifi and Lulu!"

I smile when I hear what can only be one of Grangers's trainers hitting the back of the bedroom door at my last remark.

* * *

**POV: Hermione**

* * *

"So, you're free elves?" I ask, quite pleased at the sight of clothes within their arms reach. I regret having thrown my shoe at the door because the two trembling elves look as though they might disapparate at the first sign of any more strong emotion from me.

"Oh, no, Miss! These is not for Lulu and Fifi," splutters the one with ridiculously long eyelashes. "These is for you. Mistress Malfoy says very clear that these is for you, not Lulu and not Fifi."

I grab up another swath of near nothing, unable to keep a gasp from escaping at the otherworldly silkiness of the fabric, and thrust it toward them.

"Here, take it then."

I watch the elves shrink away, aghast at the offering in my outstretched hand.

"No! Lulu and Fifi loves Mistress Malfoy and Master Draco. Theys needs Lulu and Fifi," the other says quite proudly, pointing a shaky finger at the crimson robes I've just grabbed up. "You is not our Mistress. Lulu and Fifi belongs to Malfoy Manor. And thems only charmed tea towels, not _real_ robes, Miss. Mistress Malfoy says Lulu and Fifi helps prepare you now."

Letting out an incredulous snort, I turn to the elves who take extreme care not to touch any of the charmed tea towels heaped on the floor..._ just in case_. With elfin magic, they shake out, hang and fold each robe, stocking, trouser, brassiere and vest, letting each linger in the air in front of me before carefully stacking it away in the armoire or dresser drawers. I despise shopping, but the sight of such fine garments has me gaping and, frankly, the idea of my potential underthings in such close proximity to Draco's unmentionables sends my heartbeat skittering.

"Miss must chooses her robes now." Fifi says, as the last stocking is tucked away. While darting quick, not-so-secret looks at me, Lulu whispers something to Fifi, who nods vigorously. "And Miss, Lulu and Fifi must fix Miss's... _hair_?" The last is spoken as a question as though the elf wasn't quite sure what to make of my tangled mess. With a frown, I wonder if the Malfoy elves are just as judgemental as their young master. With a huff, I turn toward the armoire to pull the crimson robe off its hanger. At least I don't have to face the Dark Lord while wearing Slytherin green.

* * *

**POV: Draco**

* * *

Already I hear the scurrying feet of his Death Eaters frantically preparing for His arrival. Fenrir is here, and the same dread I'd felt all summer falls on me like a dark cloak when I hear the Carrows' voices. With this deep seated terror returning, and the added strain of worrying over Granger's safety, it is growing more difficult for me to live behind the long-cultivated Malfoy mask of dispassion. Fear itself is an infection that festers.

The chill in the air signals the presence of the dementors Voldemort has in his entourage. With their appearance at the gate, their mere numbers suppress the light and suck what little humor is left of my earlier parting from Hermione. I peer out the hall window and watch their dark shadows block out the remnants of the delicate spring sun. I swallow again in an attempt to whet my parched throat. At last, I stop in front of my bedroom door, hoping that while I was gone, she had prepared herself for what is to come.

I take in a shallow breath, reminding myself I must remain strong. I'd spent my time away from Granger with my Mother, warning her off of any more harebrained matchmaking attempts, though telling her I did appreciate the sentiment. Mother reluctantly admitted she needed the distraction of something as normal as trying to make her son happy in order to handle the tension of Voldemort's visit. We spoke briefly, but meaningfully, helping one another restore our confidence and composure. With my fear now somewhat in hand, it is time for me to ensure Granger has also smothered hers.

I knock twice at my bedroom door.

"Draco?" she calls quietly.

"Yes," I answer.

"Come in." Her voice shakes and her wobbly nerves give me pause. I take in a deep breath and turn the knob. The door opens, and my eyes fall on Granger and my two weary house-elves. I can only imagine what sort of ordeal they'd undergone to gain such surprising results.

The vision of her fairly glows in the crimson robes she has chosen to wear. Her hair was— impossibly tidy ... _attractive _even. I fight a smile. It will not do to allow myself the luxury of welcoming any emotion I have for the witch because all will be open to the Dark Lord's scrutiny in just a few minutes.

"Is He here?" she asks, hurrying toward me.

I gulp and shake my head. It was only a matter of time, though, and the worry I had pushed aside for her crashes over me once again. The Death Eaters are crawling all over the Manor, and I fear losing my mind if any one of them dares touch her.

"Granger, we can still leave," I suggest desperately. "We can go meet Ron and your squib and run away. It is not too late."

"Do I look alright?" she asks, purposefully ignoring my pleas. "Is this OK?"

I stare at her and her gaze clashes with mine. She sends a silent but clear warning at me not to start the old argument again.

"It will do." I am purposely neutral in my response even though I know she is more than simply presentable. Secretly, I fear the house-elves might have gone a little overboard. I want to throw one of my own dark robes over Hermione to make her less appealing. I watch her nervously pick at the red robe and discover that, despite the need to distance myself, I have to assuage her worry. "You look fine, Granger. Perhaps, too fine." I add softly.

"You'll be there with me?" she asks with a tentative, hopeful smile.

"Of course," I say with some surprise.

"Are you ready, then, Malfoy?"

"No," I answer truthfully, the unbearable anxiety washing over me again. "Are you?"

"I suppose so."

I nod, and when I look at her again, Gahtoo appears.

"Mistress Malfoy bids Master Draco and Miss come to the salon. The Dark Lord are here, Master."

* * *

**POV: Hermione**

* * *

Draco grabs up my hand in a painful grip. I don't think he's realized he's even done it. He half drags me into the hallway. It seems he's angry and is making haste even though our steps feel heavy and reluctant. He glances my way again, and I feel his scrutiny. His eyes plead for me to reconsider. For a moment, I do honestly think perhaps it would be better if we abandoned this madness and apparated away together. Beyond Draco's shoulder, however, there is a window from which I can view the floating specters of the dementors that have taken up residence outside the Manor's walls. Their presence puts a chill in the air and I shudder.

The despair that accompanies their mere presence reminds me that I must go on to fulfill the prophecy to let in the Light. It is darker now, both inside the mansion and out. The shadows in the corridor are long, and I tighten my grip on his hand as we continue to take measured steps toward our destination. I lose track of the twists and turns Malfoy takes to get to the hall where Voldemort waits. I notice Draco's head is held high, though he takes care not to gaze anywhere but where he is headed. I feel the leering looks the Death Eaters make at me from behind their masks. It freezes my blood, and I long for a less flashy robe to hide behind. Many of them know me as Potter's Mudblood. The faces behind the masks belong to the pureblood parents of Hogwarts students, and if they don't know me through that channel, my face has been in the paper enough times for the rest to identify me as Harry's best friend, or perhaps more. I know the only thing that keeps them from attacking me is the orb that Draco still better be carrying in his trouser pocket and his hand that holds tightly to mine.

It seems an eternity, but at last we stop in front of two grand double doors. Malfoy squeezes my fingers before pulling away to push against the dark wood paneling. The fearsome sight of Voldemort on a high backed chair with the monstrous snake, Nagini, twining around the intricately carved wood is enough to make me turn tail and run.

For a room so filled with people, it is eerily quiet save for the breathing, and it is dark but for a strange light bereft of warmth, glowing at the front of the room. I am surprised no one can hear my thundering heartbeat. I raise my eyes to Voldemort, for the first time taking in His full face. It is without the prominence of a nose; two long slits split His countenance. He looks more serpent than human. His slitted eyes come to rest on me and, for a moment, I witness an unholy pleasure light the depths of His gaze.

"Come," He commands. My feet are compelled to move on their own. Malfoy is beside me, matching my stiff approach. On either side of us, Death Eaters stand watching, clearing a path as we near. It feels oddly like walking down a center aisle to receive sacrament, but this is a dark church that worships an unthinkable evil. As I pass the curious onlookers, I notice Professor Snape has returned to Mrs. Malfoy's side. Bellatrix is up on what seems like a dais, standing beside the Dark Lord's throne. Draco and I both stop just before having to kneel at His altar.

"Young Malfoy, your aunt informs me that you bring me good news," Voldemort's velvety voice holds more excitement than menace. I am surprised at the almost friendly tone He uses to address Draco.

"Yes, my Lord," Draco replies, his voice sure, though the tick at his jaw is more pronounced than it had been when he'd confronted his aunt in the solarium. "My father left me with the mystery of a prophecy, Master. I have worked to discover its secrets as I completed the initial task You set before me. I hope You will be well pleased to know that that task is complete, and that I am also bringing You more than perhaps any of us could have ever imagined."

I watch Draco pull the orb out of his pocket. I am surprised to find his hand steady. He does not approach Voldemort, only holds out the glass sphere, waiting for the Dark Lord to beckon him closer. A slight wave of Voldemort's fingers and the orb levitates out of Malfoy's hand. The unease fades for the blond. I suppress my own sigh of relief that he need not venture any nearer to the sinister figure.

Voldemort's eyes glow as He reads aloud the lines of the prophecy to His minions.

"_There is one, a Slytherin heir, who will be the Dark Lord's most effective weapon against The One who threatens to vanquish Him … He shall use her to weaken and overcome the powers of The Chosen One. For she alone can ensure that The One marked as His equal will not survive-"_

There is a flurry of soft murmuring around me, and the dark message of the prophecy slithers further into my understanding. It is the first time I have heard the words spoken aloud since Malfoy revealed them to me in a darkened classroom. Completely surrounded by what amounts to the Wizarding version of the Klu Klux Klan, I suddenly am aware of how truly precarious my situation is.

The sinister chuckling emanating from the grotesque figure on the throne chills me to the bone. I watch Nigini's eyes slit with pleasure as Voldemort absently strokes her scaly head with His long fingers.

"Is this the witch?"

Though Voldemort addresses Draco, He tilts His head towards me. The Dark Lord's voice is smooth, not at all the sort of dreadful hissing I'd imagined He might make.

Malfoy's hesitation is imperceptible. With carefully concealed dread, he turns to me, holding out a hand. His mouth is a tight hyphen as I look into his face. I press my own lips together as I place my icy fingers against his palm. He pulls me closer beside him. "My Lord," Draco announces with some pomp, "I present the female heir of Slytherin, Miss Hermione Muestildae."

At the sound of my name, Voldemort visibly brightens. "Yessss," He hisses malevolently, the sound slithers up my spine. My insides cringe at the reality of the voice that had infiltrated my worst imaginings. "I have been waiting a long time to meet you, Miss Muestildae." His reptilian gaze entraps mine. It is impossible to look away, and I know he is about to practice Legilimency on me.

Before Voldemort enters, however, I feel a familiar magic sneak inside my head, one that sends some added protection over the little knot of knowledge I do not wish the Dark Lord to see. I mask my surprise, as I realize Draco has been doing his own sort of training while he and I practiced tirelessly for this harrowing event. Clever of him to realize that Voldermort, though seemingly all-powerful, would not be able to penetrate two minds at once. I lightly squeeze Malfoy's hand and focus on flooding my thoughts with the memories surrounding my legacy and fate. I feel the pressure of Voldemort's magic infiltrate my insides. It is insidious, a light but vile touch that leaves me with a desire to scream in protest as he sifts through my thoughts.

He touches the truth and discards it. To my horror, of all the things Voldemort does choose to examine, it is my feelings and memories of Malfoy, ones that I had not thought to guard as closely as I do my feelings for Harry.

"Interesting," He murmurs before turning to Draco. As soon as the Dark Lord breathes the word, I feel a startling relief from the internal weight of His scrutiny. Scant moments later, Draco's magic releases me. With both gone, I am empty and left trembling in fear for Malfoy, on whom the Dark Lord now focuses His energies. A malevolent smile slips onto Voldemort's face.

In his stealth efforts to hold his own against the Dark Lord's oncoming magical invasion, I watch Draco's jaw clench intermittently. His lips clamp together so slightly it would not be noticeable to anyone but me. I know the moment the Dark Lord releases him because Draco's grip on my fingers eases and he releases a tiny, barely audible breath.

"Fascinating," Voldemort whispers, half to Himself, a disturbing half-smile playing on the outer curve of His lip-less mouth. I watch as it disappears, and as it does His focus returns to me. "Raised by Muggles. My dear, how wretched for you."

I say nothing. Despite my outward calm, I am scrambling to clear my mind of images of the only parents I know, not wanting to provide Voldemort with more ammunition to hurt me.

"Have you anything to say, child?"

Trembling, I stare at the Dark Wizard before me, and with a voice far stronger than how I feel, I reply, "My magical parents denied me my birthright by handing me off to Muggles only minutes after I was born. I mean to make them pay for their abandonment of me by taking up the mantle of Slytherin heir under your tutelage, of course, My Lord."

"Indeed?" he queries.

I nod, gulping.

"I fear that I require some proof of your sincerity, Miss Muestildae," He caresses His snake as He speaks. His fingers glide against the scales in a movement that is nearly erotic. Voldemort's voice lowers to a more sinister pitch, bordering on sadistic sensuality. I watch a cruel grin split His grotesque face as if a brilliant idea has just struck Him. "Yes, I'd like to witness your fidelity to me, heir of Slytherin, blood of my blood."

My heart races, waiting for His almost gleeful request. The Death Eaters start chanting in hushed tones. The sound of it raises the small hairs at the back of my neck. I cannot make out what they are saying, but it is an eerie backdrop to what is surely going to be some horrifying initiation rite.

"Place the Cruciatus on young Malfoy!"

* * *

**POV: Draco**

* * *

She gasps at His demand.

The Dark Lord's piercing gaze is unwavering on Granger's horrified face. He does not bother to spare me a glance. Feeling some safety in this, I close my eyes for a moment and breathe, taking a valuable second to shove away the remnant fear for her safety that threatens to seize me. I concentrate on Granger's face in my peripheral vision. I spy her eyes rounding in terror over the task. Even without Legilimency, I know her mind is stuttering. I know she's thinking, "I didn't train for _this_."

_Bugger all, Granger! Do as he asks! _ I think frustratedly. I am not scared of Granger's curse. But I truly fear for her if she refuses to do as He wishes. From what I know of Granger, it is quite unlikely she would be able to hold a Cruciatus for long. I have undergone far greater torture under Aunt Bella's wand, so I highly doubt Hermione's casting would cause me even a backwards step. All she needs to do is show Him she is willing to torture me despite whatever it was He saw in her mind. Damn if he didn't see something in mine, as well! Bugger! Why did we not anticipate this? She could have practiced!

_Damn it, Granger! Just do it! _

I try with all my might to capture the unique magic I discovered that one night when I could speak to her without words. It doesn't appear to be working. Her mind has shut down. I turn to prayer, wishing with everything in me that she hears my silent demand. And just as if she has, Hermione whips her gaze toward me.

I capture her stare for a stolen, heavy moment. With all her attention aimed at me, I purposefully paste on the sneer I know she despises. Her mouth rounds to match her eyes as I work to harden my expression, blocking from her all the truths that she had managed to unearth in me since the beginning of term. When I forcefully drop her hand, I witness the worry begin when that lower lip disappears between her teeth.

_Good! _

I lose sight of her when I turn again to stare stoically at Voldemort.

_DO IT! _I send the lashing thought out to her again. _YOU WANTED THIS! NOW LIVE WITH IT! _I desperately wish to roar at her for her hesitation.

"Malfoy?" Her voice is meek, guilt-ridden, tear-filled.

"Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, girl?" a new, shrill voice mocks. Aunt Bella seems to have abandoned the earlier reverent whispers she used to address the Dark Lord. A casual flick of His wrist seems to allow my barmy aunt the freedom to speak her mind. "You need to mean the curse!" she scoffs, dancing down the step toward Hermione, wand extended as I'd seem McGonagall do a million times when teaching a new spell to her students. Without Granger's fingers in mine, I tighten my hand into a fist as Aunt Bella approaches. I dare not look at her.

"Heir of Slytherin!" Aunt Bella sing-songs. "Indeed. Poor, pathetic girl. You need to really want to cause pain, dearie. You have to enjoy it," she adopts a new tone as she speaks to Granger. It is nearly seductive and grows more aroused at the prospect of actually causing me harm. "Any old fury or self-righteous anger will fail to hurt my nephew for very long—I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson—"

"No!"

The one word reverberates through the room. Masked faces whip toward the sound in a single, disturbing rustle.

The horrified shriek does not come from Granger but rips from my mother's throat. My own eyes round to discover my hand reaching for my wand. I try to work against what I know will come, but resistance is futile against the Voldemort's immense power, which far greater than any mere witch's or wizard's. My mind blanks, but not before I watch myself raise my wand at my mother. Passively, I watch the scene play out. The familiar numbness that comes with the Imperius Curse relieves me of emotion. Gone is my new-found conscience and renewed love for the woman at the receiving end of the spell. Without remorse, I witness the poisonous light leave my wandtip to blast my mother in the chest, sending her flying backwards and bouncing off the floor.

As the Imperius on me begins to lift, I notice that I do not feel the least bit drained. It occurs to me that the curse that had shot from my wand had not been mine. I had been but a conduit of the Dark Lord's immense power. While a horrifying thought, true terror seizes me when I witness Snape lose his cool reserve. My heart stops to witness him so thoroughly shaken at seeing my mother so carelessly handled. I watch him rush to her, still convulsing on the floor. Blindly, I too start toward her fallen figure, but not before Snape, for I cannot imagine anyone else, immobilizes my legs.

"Leave her," Voldemort orders the professor, ignoring all else but my godfather's uncharacteristic display of concern. "She knew of the prophecy and acted without informing me. She deserves no compassion, especially from the likes of you. How dare she interfere now? And in my moment of triumph!"

I watch, amazed and a bit awed at how thoughtlessly Snape ignores Voldemort's command. For a moment, the Dark Lord is distracted by Aunt Bella, who is singing unintelligibly and dancing delightedly around a terrified Granger. The disturbance my aunt creates is just long enough for Snape to send me a speaking glance. I nod imperceptibly, acknowledging his message. I carefully look away from the sight of him and my mother, returning my attention to the Dark Lord. I cannot make out what Aunt Bella is telling Granger, but I see the defiant upturn of the latter's chin, an enraged glint brightens her eye. I half-expect the younger witch to jab a finger at Aunt Bellatrix.

"Severus!"

Voldemort's voice makes me jump. No longer does it hold its tone of regal boredom and crass amusement. The seething command claws at my eardrums, insisting that my godfather bend to His will— _immediately_. When Snape refuses to move from Mother's side, I honestly expect my wand to raise against him as well. Instead, I watch Granger's hand move until her wand is level at Snape's head. I notice Granger's eyes have gone blank. Now she is the marionette in this terrifying play.

"Get up, Severuss," Voldemort hisses, "or suffer the same fate."

"Professor," whimpers Hermione, in an unexpected flash of lucidity. "Please, Professor."

I fight back a shocked gasp. Hermione has managed to fight Voldemort's Imperius for only a split second, but even so, that moment of free will is incredibly impressive—and _everyone_ in the room knows it.

Voldemort appears just as stunned by Granger's yet untrained power. He watches her release the Crucio He'd ordered. She is glorious with her head thrown back and her hair blowing behind her. The power that is released from her wand causes even Aunt Bella to gape.

The Dark Lord rewards Granger for her proficiency by lifting His Imperius just as the Crucio from her wand blasts Snape from his kneeling position and up into the air. With legs and arms outspread, my godfather's body tumbles to the ground. His torso is rocked by seizures from the fierce impact of the curse. Granger cuts off the Crucio as soon as she comes to her senses, and I watch the twin expressions of guilt and astonishment cross her face. Clearly, unlike me, she had been the one in control of the curse. The truth of this shines on her face. I purposely turn away from the proud, fascinated way she examines her wand. Again, I take in the frightful sight of Voldemort as I try inwardly to prepare myself for Granger's next curse which will surely have me spread-eagle on the floor next to my mother and Snape.


	32. Marking

**POV: Voldemort**

* * *

I grow weary of Bellatrix and her grating singsong. I consider casting a _Silencio_ at the barmy witch, but I decide she is not worth the energy I might expend by raising my wand at her.

"Bellatrix, cease!" I demand irritably.

I am well pleased to be rewarded with her instant obedience. The echoing silence allows me a return to my previous conflicts as I examine the inner thoughts of the two teens before me.

I sneer at the boy and slit my eyes at the girl, remembering Potter's infuriating words before I left him lying on the floor of the Ministry.

_"You're the weak one ... and you'll never know ... love ... _  
_or friendship and I feel sorry for you."_

They have haunted me ever since.

_Love_.

Elusive, this ... love. Yet, these two _infants_ seem to know something of it, and what is worse is that this love seems to have many varying forms. I bare my teeth at the both of them for their innate knowledge of something that is so alien to me.

Once, long ago, I thought I'd discovered how to capture such feelings, to bottle it by somehow stealing it away, but that had proven folly. Now, I have simply eschewed love's very existence. Since I have never experienced such emotion, not once during my long life, I have decided that love must be of no real consequence. After all, my continued existence undoubtedly proves that it is unnecessary for life. I've outlasted even Potter's parents — those who allegedly knew _true love_. How incredibly easy it had been to take their pathetic, _loving_ lives.

I laugh loudly at the delectable memory.

I delight in watching my masked followers tense at my the reverberating sound. I laugh again at their quaking fear.

_Fear_. Now, _this_ emotion, above all else, has proven so much more powerful than Potter's love.

I tilt my head to again scrutinize the two before me.

At last inspection, before Narcissa's and Snape's outrageous behavior, I discovered young Malfoy's _fear_ of _love_. A bleak void surrounds his thoughts of it. As for the girl, love pains her, yet she clutches it close. Confused are her feelings ... complicated, full-bodied emotions ... each slightly different for the three she holds most dear. She desires her _love_ returned. Such a futile wish — to desire such fancies — but she is young.

She must be properly taught not to depend on such capricious things. I am more than happy to tutor her on this count.

Confounding, their thoughts. Despite their negative feelings surrounding this ephemeral sentiment, for each of them the feeling of _love_ is _real_. Watching the young Slytherin nearly open his mouth to beg this girl for the pain of the Cruciatus, I suddenly realize _love's_ most curious and potential power. It is as much pain and torture as it is comfort. I slit my eyes at this thought. Perhaps, used strategically, such love could be a most effective tool in bringing Potter to his knees. I cackle again at the irony of how Potter's highly touted power will be what puts an end to the Boy Who Lived.

This girl ... _Hermione_ ... is the key. I _know_ it. She understands this _love_ where I cannot. She can wield it as a tool, acting as an extension of me. I know this female Slytherin is fundamental to my victory; I feel this truth down to the very depths of my splintered soul.

I peer into the boy's wide silver eyes and smile at his inner quaking. Clever, this one, much more so than his useless excuse of a father. I enter his mind again, relishing his look of pain which he attempts to hide at my intrusion. I seek it out again, this strange knot of feeling, so deeply embedded in his mind. _Love_ — dark, tumultuous, so full of thoughts of this girl. Gleefully, I leave a message for him to ponder:

_This girl is mine. MINE, young Malfoy. Not yours. Never yours … unless I deem it so._

I push out of him with a soundless laugh. His relief is nearly equal my own, so painful had it been to touch his jumbled thoughts of her. I glory in the flare of his livid fury at my departing thought. I stare at him, again, his arrogant chin lifting slightly. I shake my head at his youthful bravado.

"Come here, child," I say softly, turning to beckon the girl near. She startles, anxiety settling in the depths of her dark gaze.

I extend my hand, and she unwillingly takes it. I can feel her warmth, the throb of her pulsing veins, carrying her life's blood that shares a history with mine. I draw her close. She stiffens at my voiceless entreaty. I feel her willing herself to relax.

"You _love_ him," I whisper into the cover of her bushy hair, gesturing with my hand to the boy at my feet. I watch her flick a glance at him, then spy her teeth catch the softness of her lower lip between them. A blush rises to her cheeks.

"I thought I did, my Lord," she admits reluctantly, her voice no louder than a whisper. "I'm no longer certain."

"If, for example, young Malfoy needed to be schooled in the art of keeping secrets, do you suppose you would love him enough to punish him properly ... until he learned his lesson?"

Her eyes round and she drops her gaze to her wand. I can again feel her wonder at the immense power that earlier coursed through her. I place my cool fingers atop hers, and she initially balks at my touch before forcing herself to relax again.

"I would if you deemed it necessary, my Lord," the girl replies shakily, but her diction is clear.

I watch the boy sigh, almost relieved.

_Fascinating_.

"But why wait for my approval since it is you who believes he deserves punishment, dear girl, not I?" I smile as I speak the words. My scrutinizing stare seeks the glimmer of awareness in her eyes that I'd caught onto her last wisp of feeling she'd attempted to hide from me. "But perhaps you might rather consider a punishment that comes not from your wand?" I say, stroking her hand. "You'll let me take care of the details, won't you?"

I watch her waver, unsure of her answer. It would be easier to Imperius her or force myself into her mind, but I am rather enjoying toying with her.

"Yes, you are perhaps too innocent to conceive of a fitting punishment for your young man. I assure you what I dream up will be so much more pleasant for you." I whisper this to her, bringing my finger up to caress her cheek, then turning my palm to catch up her defiant little chin. I am amused at her attempts to hide her outward revulsion at the feel of my skin against hers. "You are, after all, of my blood, and we do deserve the very best. Hmmm? To _him_ ... why, he believes you are the very best."

There is a flash of shock in her expression, one she hides beneath a demure nod. Smart child, though not surprising considering her forebearers.

"In fact, his unwavering belief in your superiority is one reason he still lives," I say in a lighter tone. "He will honor you and, more importantly, obey you." I pull her closer. She keeps in check her instinct of fight or flight, and I am well pleased with her. I push my face against her ear and whisper conspiratorially, "He also still lives because I know you want him."

She cannot hide her embarrassment from me, and I smile indulgently.

"Yes, I know, my dear," I say, my jaw tightening, as my fingernails dig into the flesh of her cheeks. "Still ... you believe yourself in love with two others, the strength of feeling for each nearly equal to the one you hold for _him_. Naughty girl." I notice a flash of confusion in her gaze. I wonder momentarily if I'd misinterpreted these dueling emotions in her thoughts. Her befuddled expression is short-lived, however, and almost instantaneously I forget my concern and return to taunting.

"There is one Ronald Weasley, blood traitor, though he can hardly be considered one now since we know your true form. And, of course, _the_ Harry Potter." I spit out the boy's name on a hiss, and she jumps. "You are angry with Potter for his recent behavior toward _that one_." I move my chin in the blonde's general vicinity. "This anger eclipses your love for Potter." My lips split into a smile once more. "Remember that bit of hatred, child. Do not lose sight of it. Potter can and _will_ betray you again. And yes, I saw all of this in you. You cannot hide from me, my girl. You will do as I command."

Her eyes suddenly glimmer with unshed tears, a protest on her lips. I interrupt her before she can speak.

"– And what I will ask of you is quite simple, really. All I ask is that you continue to love all three, just as you have been, perhaps even a bit more than you do already. Nothing else than that. Would this be so difficult to accomplish for a young, vibrant woman such as yourself?" I let my tongue roll out of my mouth at the words young and vibrant. I feel her slight recoil and catch her desire to grimace, but she stops herself from showing her disgust at my lecherous suggestion.

"No, my Lord," she replies swiftly, though clearly unnerved. I release my tight grip on her chin, which left half-moon indents on her pale cheeks. Then, I pat her shoulder in an almost paternal manner. I spare a glance at Severus, who has at last gotten back to his feet. The look of incredulity etched in his features is thoroughly amusing. "You believe Potter and the other boy, Ronald Weasley, will ask you to accompany them somewhere?"

She nods stiffly. She quickly masked the look of shock of my extensive knowledge of her innermost, sheltered thoughts.

"Do you know where they wish to take you?"

"No, my Lord," she says immediately. My magic strays into her mind to confirm her answer. It appears she knows very little of what I have been most desperate to hide. I am satisfied with her veracity.

"You shall go with Potter and relay events back to me. Through you, I will know where Potter is. He will accompany you." I point my finger at the quivering young Malfoy.

"You are pleased with the generosity of my ... _gift_?" I inquire, noting her more relaxed stance and the secret smile playing at her lips at my pronouncement. "Good, but you should know, my girl, that your Lord does not grant such favors without first some sacrifice from you." Her eyes again go wide as I absently stroke Nagini's head. The snake's immense mouth is so close to Hermione's trembling self that Nagini's notched tongue nearly touches her lips. I watch this girl, this female Slytherin, curiously. She does not move away, despite her clear distress.

"First," I say, pushing the curious Nagini away. "I need you to demonstrate your unwavering devotion to me, and that despite your soon fleeting feelings for Potter, you will worship no other but me."

My eyes slowly drift beyond her shoulder to catch the young Malfoy's infuriated glare. He can barely contain his hatred of me. It seeps from his very pores. A bemused roar of laughter at his emasculation rips out of my throat. I haven't had this much entertainment in years, not since I'd managed to cure Severus of his ridiculous lust for that Mudblood whore, Lily Evans.

I wrench my thoughts from those of the past to concentrate on the present and turn to the girl. I feel my thin lips curl into a rather slow smile as I gather the power inside of me.

She trembles in my presence. A derisive scoff escapes me as my hand wanders again to stroke her flushed cheek.

"Lift your robes and straddle me."

With tongue extended, I curl it like a finger, beckoning her forward to do my bidding. I take depraved pleasure in watching her mouth drop in horror at my request.

**POV: Draco**

* * *

"My Lord," I call out in a voice far stronger than my heart-stopping fear might indicate. "Is there nothing I can do to help convince you of Hermione's unwavering devotion to you?"

My worst nightmare is playing out in front of my eyes, and when I would, in all honesty, be mute with cold terror clogging my windpipe, I somehow summon up the nerve to interrupt the most frightening wizard in the universe from doing something most horrifying to Granger. I try not to shrink from the weight of the evil glare boring into me from the fearsome sorcerer on the makeshift throne. I wonder just how much of Weasley's bravery I might have ingested from all that polyjuice I'd been drinking these last few months.

"Do you not fear for your life, young Malfoy?" Voldemort inquires incredulously, turning his attention to me, pushing Hermione back to his side.

I let out a small sigh of relief at this minuscule movement. It ensures her safety, if even just for a moment more.

"I do, most assuredly, my Lord," I earnestly reply. "But I am under spellbound oath to protect the female Slytherin heir, no matter the cost to myself."

I force myself against following my instincts to meet Granger's questioning glance. The Dark Lord releases a maniacal roar of laughter at my reasoning.

"Is that so? A dark knight, how amusing. If this is true, then you are still of some use," He says with a reptilian smile. "Perhaps, Draco, I should first ensure that this oath you carry for her will not override your fidelity towards me."

Voldemort's eyes gleam malevolently beneath the hood of his robe. I shudder. "It seems you have learned far more than your father when it comes to duty and devotion, Draco. I regret that your Slytherin brethren cannot be here to witness your rise to my inner circle. But what better time to reward you for your constancy than now, when you have reunited me with my one last remaining and most precious relation? Approach, Draco Malfoy."

I watch Him nudge Hermione further aside as His long fingertips curl, motioning me closer. Again, I feel some relief that I have saved her, even if only postponing a very real and seriously deranged eventuality. I try not to shudder. I know now what to expect for myself. There can only be one reward the Dark Lord can offer his most ardent followers.

**POV: Hermione**

* * *

My heart squeezes painfully as Draco approaches the dais. Guiltily, I am incredibly relieved it is he, and not I, who must withstand this mysterious initiation ceremony that will surely end in some sort of agonizing pain. I sincerely hope it has nothing to do with public violation of the sort that was hinted to me before. The idea is not too far-fetched, though, and I cry out inside as I watch Draco move near. Voldemort's earlier request of me sent a barbaric wave of blood-thirst through the audience of Death Eaters. Their chilling, immobile masks hide the real monsters beneath, each likely capable of bringing to life any one of the many vile scenarios Malfoy had described in hair-raising detail.

I watch Draco with morbid curiosity. He seems to know what is expected without any sort of prompting. He drops to his knees in supplicant genuflection before Voldemort's throne and offers Him his left arm. The eerie chanting from the audience of Death Eaters begins anew.

_The Dark Mark._ I smother a gasp at my sudden realization.

Voldemort grabs hold of Draco's wrist and places the tip of His wand on Malfoy's inner forearm. Instinctively, I move swiftly to snatch up Draco's right hand. Unthinking, Malfoy grabs hold of my offered hand before Voldemort can begin the incantation. I notice Voldemort glance at our clasped fingers. His lips twitch at the gesture, but nothing more. Realizing I will be allowed to touch Draco as he is Marked, I clutch to his desperate grip and silently offer up a prayer of thanks for tiny blessings. At the close of my benediction, I notice immediately that the bright light of the magic between us does not shine externally but shines bright within me. It acts as a copper-wire circuit in the Muggle world, allowing me to feel the white-hot electricity of Draco's frantic fear. How this emotion never reaches his stoic features, I will _never_ know.

As Voldemort's wand etches the Dark Mark on Draco's previously pristine, alabaster skin, I wish desperately to cry out, but Malfoy's silent, primal howl of pain bursts in my head, and I can do little more than bite my inner cheek until I draw blood and bear it all in silence. I feel the scorching pain of what feels like a thousand fiery needles in my own arm. I catch his watery gaze and see gratitude as we both realize that I am somehow able to magically leech away some of Draco's hurt. Together we weather the Marking, and I see that Voldemort is thoroughly pleased at His discovery of the mysterious magical connection we share.

A mighty roar of approval comes from those gathered at the foot of Voldemort's throne, when the darkest wizard of all triumphantly throws His hand holding His wand high into the air.

"It is done!" He announces to the now raucous crowd of Death Eaters. "Rise, young Malfoy, and stand with your brothers."

Though I can feel him take in a shuddering breath, Draco nods solemnly. His hand reluctantly lets go of mine. I stifle a cry at his parting touch.

"Now, my dear, where were we?" Voldemort's tongue flicks most disturbingly in and out of His mouth as He turns to address me. I can feel Draco's scorching gaze on us. I fight the urge to look his way. I force myself to meet Voldemort's gaze, and what I discover chills me to the core. He means to hurt me, to strike fear, to make me quake in his presence. His eyes rake down my body, and I try not to shiver in disgust at the scrutiny.

"My Lord?" I manage without stuttering.

"Ah, yes," He smiles menacingly. "I remember now. Approach, girl. Lift your robes," his face is enigmatic while patting his lap, "and sit here."

I shut my eyes, praying for another distraction, but none comes. Gulping, I approach, knowing there is nothing beneath but that gossamer Draco's mother had included in my pile of enchanted garments. Being forced to expose myself to a roomful of Death Eaters has my stomach churning, threatening to heave. I urge myself forward, though every cell in my being wishes most desperately to Apparate away. When I can go no further without toppling into Him, I modestly lift my robes only just enough to straddle the Dark Lord's lap and have the material flutter back down to hide myself from those who wish to watch. He laughs.

"Chaste, innocent girl. Such a gift," He murmurs in a pronounced whisper that can be heard across the room. I can't decide if it is sarcasm or something else that is in His tone. Voldemort slides a cold, bony hand beneath the voluminous material that is bunched between us and over my open legs. His hand rests on the outside of my thigh. I stiffen. No one has ever touched me this way, and I can feel my tears threatening. I do not want _this_, never imagined such foulness, though Draco had attempted to warn me of the possibility.

"Breathe, witch," Voldemort's sotto voce croons, hypnotizing in his attempt at comfort during a most incongruous time such as this. His fingertips move closer to my center, and a whimper escapes despite my desire to mimic Malfoy's impassivity. My abdomen clenches at His vulgar, yet featherlight touch.

"You wish another here," His whisper is for my ears only. I clench my jaw defiantly as I feel the upstroke of his fingertip against the silky material covering my most private of places. "Any one of three, it seems, would be more satisfactory to you than me."

I stare at Voldemort, bewildered, fighting the urge leap away. Again, He hints at some belief that I would allow such intimacies with my two closest friends. His fingers glance against a special bundle of nerves that has never been fondled by another's hands. I bite back a squawk of protest as I feel my body's traitorous response. Bile rises in my throat as I watch a knowing gleam light in His monstrous gaze when He feels my telling dampness. The tears I'd held at bay begin to stream down my face.

"You'll have your wish, my dear, very soon." The tone of Voldemort's promise strangely reminds me of the promises my father made when I was little. The memory flickers, and with its fading I feel the removal of the defiling hand from between my legs. I feel a peculiar slide of muscle against my back, too large to be arms. With some terror I feel Nagini was now wrapped around us, binding me to Voldemort. I am forced to slide closer and am repulsed at the sick arousal that I feel against my belly. To my ultimate horror there is pleasure in His disturbing expression as He stares at me. I quell my impulse to writhe away, worried my movement might inspire more than just this unholy, thankfully-clothed stimulation. I shut my eyes, feeling His acrid breath hit my nostrils and His disgusting tongue come within millimeters of my lips.

"You must be Marked as well, child," He hisses into my ear. "Here," He whispers, running his icy palm against my bare hip and upper thigh. Terrified, I look down and watch Him impatiently shove my robes up to my waist. He motions someone forward.

I try to turn my head to discover the owner of this new set of hands on me, but find I am unable to move. I can only stare at my now bared hip and leg with only a scrap of see-through material. I let out a sound of extreme distress. At the whimper, the other's hand, which holds my robes aloft, moves into view. The long masculine fingers wear a ring I recognize. I dare to relax a little and let out a sigh of relief at the bejeweled S and the well-manicured hand I know so well.

I hear Voldemort's malevolent chuckle against my ear.

"Would you like to hold his hand?" He sneers.

Not believing He would allow it, I whisper my affirmative plea anyway, hoping beyond hope that He might allow me the small comfort and reprieve from the imminent pain which I'd helped Draco bear only minutes before. Voldemort must have assented because Malfoy's other hand finds my left one to grasp.

It's a most awkward position, with the gargantuan snake's body pulsing between us. The more Draco pushes forward to hide my bared self from view, the more I am forced to squirm and arch against Voldemort. The depraved megalomaniac seems to derive perverse pleasure from even my most slightest adjustments.

The first glide of His wand against my bared flesh feels razor sharp, and I scream aloud in pain. Draco's fingers tighten around mine as a burning sensation replaces the cutting feeling at my hip. At a second swipe, I throw my head back, shrieking, and manage to catch Draco's chin with my crown, and I hear his muttered oath. Between each searing slight of Voldemort's hand, I knock the back of my head against Draco's chest.

At last Draco uses the side of his face to capture the top of mine against his, imploring me to stop my thrashing. "Hermione, concentrate on channeling the pain into me," Draco sharply commands.

I snap my mouth shut after his hand more fiercely grips mine. I watch a flicker of amusement in Voldemort's eyes as He witnesses this exchange. The etching of His wand stops, allowing me some reprieve.

"Push the sensations into me," Draco coldly orders, as I take huge gulping breaths. "Stop offering those bastards behind me free wank material."

With my mouth in the shape of a silent "o," I can't stop staring at Voldemort, whose full attention is now focused on Malfoy. His lipless mouth lifts into a malicious sneer.

"Let her ssscream, boy," He hisses. "Allow the heir to fully experience the sacrifice she makes in joining us. Let us hear and exalt in the glory of her gift."

I feel Voldemort shift closer to me, grabbing my hips so that His grind against me. I notice He bears no Mark Himself, and I find that curious. Again, His monstrous face closes in. I wrestle the urge to wrench myself away. Malfoy, however, does it for me, yanking me backwards, causing Nagini to tighten its hold. I exhale sharply at the forbidden friction Draco unintentionally creates. My sharply exhaled breath on the Dark Lord's face seems to reawaken the Dark Lord to His task.

The Marking I receive feels as though it takes twice as long to sear into my skin than Malfoy's. The fiery trails on my thigh are excruciating. As I push the pain into our clasped hands, I can almost feel Draco's face twist into a grimace as he withstands the torturous ebb and flow of my agony. It is even too much for him, since Malfoy accidentally allows his silent bellow to ring in my head.  
The Mark that Voldemort engraves onto my side is most certainly larger than the one on Draco's forearm. It reaches from my hipbone to mid-thigh. I grit my teeth and clutch Draco's hand as the last of the dark, invasive magical ink seeps under my skin. There seems to be a collective sigh of ecstasy from behind me, even one slips from Draco.  
Fascinated, I watch the tattooed snake do a vulgar slide in and out of the skeleton's mouth, causing an almost exquisite pain. It is a sensation that, one might find nearly addictive in its eroticism. I try to turn my head. Somewhat surprised that I can, I look up into Draco's face. The muscles in his jaw twitch, and his faraway look tells me that he feels it, too. I manage to catch his eyes and through the magical connection we've forged during our Marking, he pushes some of his pleasure back into me. The intensity of Draco's arousal, combined with my own and most clearly that of Voldemort's against my pelvis, is perversity at its extreme.

_What exactly was this Mark?_

"Do you feel that?" Voldemort inquires, his velvety voice sends shivers up my spine as he gently caresses my hip. The Mark responds to Voldemort's touch; it sends a dark thrill to my very core. From the sounds behind me, the others seem to feel it, too. "That is just a taste of my understanding of Potter's definition of _love_." He says the last word with a sneer, and I watch His hand slide against Nagini, grabbing up the serpent's tail. I wonder vaguely what Voldemort is doing as He shoves Draco's hands away. I feel the snake's back end drop between us. It slithers and slides between the madman's obvious erection and my open legs. I want to scream against my body's very base response to its movements.

"Judging from your enthusiasm, I believe you'll enjoy the full flavor of what my version of _love_ and punishment has to offer," He whispers darkly as the snake flicks its tail in a maddening rhythm that causes a delicious friction at the juncture of my thighs. I fight the onslaught of unwanted feeling flooding my body from _down there_. I shudder, disgusted with my fierce reaction to _this_, and again offer up a renewed prayer of thanks for the thin, but very useful, covering given to me by the Malfoy matriarch from the pile of former dishtowels.

"Your Marking is not yet complete, and in my estimation it seems as though you and he —" I stop breathing when He looks over my shoulder to indicate Draco. "— appear quite compatible for the final part of this most sacred ceremony. You are not usually allowed a choice in partner, but since you are of my blood, it is my pleasure to accommodate your desires."

I balk as His fingers reach out to draw my chin closer. With a whisper of movement his tongue flicks out to touch my lips. I flinch. He laughs.

I know what my desires are, and I know what crossed Malfoy's mind when our Dark Marks had writhed in unison. Seems a sexual union is required for the completion of the Marking ceremony, probably some spilling of blood. Virgin blood, I silently amend. I know I should count my blessings that at the very least I am able to pick who that partner might be and that Draco is not totally averse to me picking him. A horrifying thought enters my mind as I recall the communal aspects of this ritual so far. Already the crowd seems lustful in its excitement at the prospects of being witness to my deflowering. Though I find it more than a little disturbing that I am already resigned to the fact that this is going to happen, I truly cannot have it happen in what appears to be the ceremonial way.

Fear and desperation has me tugging at Voldemort's sleeve like a small child. But when I open my mouth to speak, I find myself too embarrassed to say the words of this most fervent wish. The Dark wizard seems to notice my predicament. I feel the whisper of His repulsive magic enter my mind again.

"... _and_ privacy?" He barks out a dry laugh. "Cheeky, demanding girl." He appears to examine Malfoy, then with a wry, twisted smile He adds, "I'll consider it. After all, _he_ may need it."

Voldemort pats me in an absent, almost fatherly, manner. Then He pushes me off His lap, clearly through with me. He turns to Bella with an outstretched hand saying ominously, "Prepare her. I must speak to young Malfoy."


End file.
